the price of forgetting
by day-see
Summary: Vader always thought that epiphany would come in waves; in the middle of meditation, perhaps, or a dream while he was resting, giving him unimaginable glee and satisfaction at its revelation. He'd never thought epiphany would sledgehammer him here, at cell room number 2187, in the middle of an interrogation session, with an unconscious Alderaanian Princess laying on the floor.
1. Leia

The revolution started with a bang. Just not the kind of bang that you imagined it to be.

Princess Leia was bruising her knuckles, she was sure of it. But it was better this way—hitting the cold metal bench she was confined to at least relieved some of the pain that the drug injected to her had brought.

**_Bang, bang, bang, bang. _**

"_Where is the rebel base, Your Highness?" _

She'd heard those words perhaps a thousand times, a sentence that got murkier and murkier as time passed and more drugs were pumped into her system. Darth Vader; the famed Emperor's right-hand-man, the Galaxy's most fearsome murderer, looked down at her—she thinks. With that black mask on, she could never be so sure.

Leia never felt fear quite like this before; never felt helplessness quite this all-consuming before. Her nausea was unbearable now, clinging to her throat like vice, and the pounding in her head seemed to increase by the second. but she was no Princess of Alderaan if she let these things take course of her actions. When she replied to him, her eyes were defiant, albeit hazy and unfocused, and her voice was filled with conviction, albeit shaky and slurred.

"Away," She had said, challengingly, because she'd rather _die _than let this tyranny win the fight against democracy.

Something muffled came out of Darth Vader's mouth—she thinks. Perhaps a snort, or a groan, or a curse of frustration, she could never be so sure, with how much his vococorder distorted it. Beside him, the torture droid lifted his syringe—fully refilled, of _course—_menacingly, ready to pump her with more toxins so she could _break _for them to take.

"I see that you have chosen to continue refusing cooperation." Said Vader, monotone voice echoing through the cold cell. "IT-O, dispose more of the drugs. I want to try something else."

Leia almost whimpered at that, because the substance already inside her had made her heart squeeze, made her nerves prickle. Could she possibly take _more _and _endure? _Could she possibly take more and _survive? _

Could she possibly take more and still guard the secrets given to her?

"_You are one brave girl, my love." _She forced her mind to remember what Mama had said, as she felt another needle pricking her arm. "_You are braver than the fiercest of mankind. You can do this." _

The room spinned around her. Her head was beating faster than a ship going into hyperspace.

"_Your birth mother would be so proud of you, Leilila." _

Leia closed her eyes, tongue licking her lower-right canine silently—a fake made to contain toxins of her own, standard for higher-level rebel cell.

If it came to death, then so be it.

"Bring me the best that you have," She whispered, almost inaudibly, giving Vader one last weak grin before wincing, feeling the drug run its course. Her abused knuckle hit the metal bench, over and over again, creating a rhythm she herself couldn't hear due to the heightened buzz of the torture droid.

**_Bang, bang, bang, bang_**—echoing through the room, matching the mechanical noises.

Before her, Vader—were her eyes blurry or were there _two _of him _now?—_tilted his head slightly, as if in amusement of her unwilting defiance. "That I shall."

And then—then suddenly, he was _inside her head. _

Leia gasped, wincing at the sudden intrusion. Her headache _escalated _into unimaginable pain as she gritted her teeth. Vader was still _there, _before her, but somehow he was also _inside her; _breaking through her shields, carding through memories, tossing them around one by one.

"Where is the rebel base?"

_She was age Sixteen; dragging Winter to another midnight adventure, climbing down from their room's window sneakily as they looked left and right in case of a guard spotting their latest teenage rebellion phase— _

Tossed away—like nothing. Her and her sister, discarded like _nothing. _

"I don't _know." _

"Liar. Where is it?"

_Age eleven; and Papa was teaching her how to milk a Bantha. Leia held the nipple wrong and the blue liquid sprayed to her face, all over her dress. Papa had laughed at that, Prince-consort dignity be damned. _

Torn to shreds. Her father's smile, destroyed just like _that. _

"I told you, I don't _know!" _

"Your torture will only continue if you refuse to drop the facade, Your Higness."

_Age four; Mama was doing her braid, singing a good children's song that she hated so much for baby Winter on the bassinet next to them. "Mama, why are all nursery rhymes scary?" Leia had protested, and Mama had simply laughed, bopping her nose affectionately. _

Crumpled, thrown off. Mama's singing voice—_gone. _

"Stop it—_stop it!" _

Leia didn't realize it, but she was shrieking now, body trembling as her knuckles repetitively banged the cold metal bench were she laid. Tears were flowing from her eyes, and she was _hurt, _utterly and completely _broken _as Vader carelessly crusaded through her mind, breaking and discarding memories—_her _memories, _hers—_in his quest to find the information he needed.

She took a deep breath—whimpered, almost. Her mind shield was in shambles, but it wasn't quite destroyed, _yet. _She closed her eyes, screwing them shut, imagining walls upon walls layering her secrets, guarding them with haphazard memories and emotions and thoughts and dreams and _her_.

This was a skill she'd learned secretively—not even Papa and Mama had known this technique, or how they even applied, but Leia had _learned, _scavenging old documents and reading torture resistance methods, putting herself through months of independent meditations and self control, and she had _learned. _

Here was the last straw of her defense; using parts of herself to protect this information—because she'd rather lose her mind than lose _this fight. _

"You cannot hide this forever from me, Your Highness."

**_Bang, bang, bang, bang._**

Leia was heaving. "I'd like you—" She said, eyes closed but Vader still in her sight somehow, plaguing her mind. "I'd like to see you _try _getting it out of me_." _

Vader in her mind was as menacing and unreadable as always, but Leia had a gut feeling that he almost—_smiled—_at her insistence. "Then so be it."

And then Vader was wreaking havoc _inside her; _tearing her walls one by one, not just memory anymore—

_Wishes of holding hands with Winter in a free-land, speaking the wills of the people before the senate—_

_Dreams of a desert, and a blonde-haired boy with lopsided grin and clear-blue eyes—_

_Feelings of love, of adoration, of longing to Mama, Papa, Winter—_

"Where is—?"

_Images—Images of—_

"**_Your birth mother would be proud of you, Leilila." _**

_Not mama, but a mother all the same; curly hair, cascading down, brown eyes just like her, and a sad, sad smile. Her lips working out to say words to her that she couldn't hear._

This was her final defense; a memory from a time she didn't even know—a mother she'd never met but had always seen at the back of her lids. Her mother, _hers. _

"_Leia," She thought she'd heard her say, "Leia, You're so brave, my love." _

_Mother's voice was warm—velvety, with an odd accent, too. Leia heard of it before—the lull of her voice, the gentleness in her words—but she'd always recognized it in her dreams. _

Her mother, _hers. _

"_I'm so sorry, my sweetheart." _

"What—?"

**_Bang, bang, bang, bang. _**

"_Mom_." Leia had breathed, eyes hazy and glassy, tears coming down her cheeks as she looked up to the overly bright ceiling. _I'm coming to you, mom, _she thought to herself, looking up. _I'm coming to you—_

And then—Vader was suddenly out.

She blinked, because her head was clearer now—still painful, still murky, but _clearer, _with only one voice commandeering its insides; _hers. _And she'd—

Carded through her defenses, desperately trying to find—

_Oh._

The rebel base information—it was still _there, _untouched. Vader _hadn't taken it. _

_Then why—?_

"Who—" Leia was pulled back to reality, and she could see the all-blinding harsh light around her. Could feel the coldness of the room, of the space. Could hear the torture droid buzzing menacingly in front of her, and the harsh breathing voices of Vader through his vococorder.

_Vader. Right. _He was the one—asking?

No, wait—

Had he gone out of her mind _before _getting the information of the rebel base?

"Who is _that?" _Vader's voice was rough—even the vococorder couldn't disguise it. He was no longer bored and monotonous. Instead, he was sharp and—_panicking? _"I said, _who is that?!"_

Leia laughed, despite herself; airy and light. "Who is what?" She asked, voice slurred.

"Don't play with me, Highness—the woman, in your mind—"

Narrowing her eyes, Leia could barely see him from all the headache and visual distortion. "You—" She coughed, heaving, brown hair and sad eyes filling her senses, along with a repetitive _Leia, Leia, Leia— _"You mean—_mom?" _

"Do not _lie to me!" _And now Vader was raging, because everything around her suddenly prickled painfully, buzzing over and under her skin and _torturing her. _"You are Princess Leia of Alderaan, your parents are Bail and Breha Organa—"

Leia could feel ghost hands closing over her throat, lifting her up. The force—it seemed; Vader's famous technique, one only he wielded in the galaxy. She couldn't breathe, spluttering and coughing as she tried, and the room was spinning. "_You are not her daughter!" _

Her knuckles balled and extended next to her sides, trying to find purchase while Vader suspended her midair. She could barely breathe, but she'd find the effort to bother him, to ruffle his feathers, if it meant he was disturbed—_distracted, _from going on his way to find out the rebel base. "I am, though." She croaked, lips parched and tongue dry. "She's my—_mom_," She gasped, softly.

Funny; she didn't even know her _name _and she already loved her, if only for disturbing Vader's psyche this much.

_I made it_, _are you proud of me, mom—_

"You are not—you are—"

"Mom," Leia whispered, voice inaudible even to her own ears.

_I'm coming—_

And—just as sudden as his departure from her head—suddenly he dropped her, knee-first to the metal floor, letting her crumple like a limp ragdoll. Leia curled into a ball, could barely find the energy to scramble away to any corners of the room to protect herself.

But her eyes—blurred as they were, _watched, _somehow.

"No, no, _no—" _

And there was Vader, backing up to the corner as if _he _was the one wounded from this encounter. Leia wanted to close her eyes for she was so tired, so _tired; _her tongue was once again tracing her fake-tooth, pondering on taking the toxin right _there— _

"He said—" She could make out Vader's mechanical voice, "He said you _died." _

Leia chuckled at that, weakly, wondering what the hell did Vader meant by that. Funny—the man now sounded like he was hurting, like something physically _maimed _him, when Leia was the one spent, drained, _destroyed. _"Maybe I will," Leia mumbled, her weak voice echoing through the walls, tongue drawling her words. She could see how Vader flinched by that, so she gathered some more, all the energy left in her, to spite him one last time, "Maybe I _have."_

"No," There was Vader's voice, again, and now even his vococorder couldn't hide how _desperate _he sounded, how _fearful—_and would you look at that? Darth Vader, _fearful? _Of her, a meagly Princess of a rebel planet, no less?

Leia narrowed her eyes, her sight growing even murkier and murkier, but she could feel light traces to her skin, her bruised throat, her stinging knuckles—like someone was caressing her.

"Please, don't—I didn't—"

No, not _of _her—but _for _her.

"Your High—Princess—_Leia_, no, _no—" _

_Why?_

"I—" a black-gloved hand was trying to reach for her forehead, and Leia flinched, pushing herself further away as much as her spent energy would allow. Vader—it was Vader's hand, reaching out to—to _touch her? _"I'm sorry—"

_What?_

She snorted, despite herself. Her eyes were growing heavier, so maybe she was hallucinating. Leia wanted to say something, but her throat hurt and her voice died in her vocal chords, so what came out were mere groan, quiet and pained.

Leia looked at her knuckles, all bruises and blood and wounds and pains—just like the rest of her. Her mind was boggled, but she had a vague sensation of someone lifting her hand up, as if taking it closer to examine it.

"I did this to you," Said someone—_Vader? _No, that couldn't be _right; _he couldn't possibly sound so _heartbroken. _"I did this to _you." _

Chuckling, Leia closed her eyes. "Yeah." She wheezed her answer, not really paying attention to the man anymore. Instead, she focused on something else; something _bright, _and _warm, _and _clear _calling her name.

Maybe it was her time to rest.

"Angel," her head was pounding, her vision swarmed, and her ears were ringing, but she swore she heard Vader say, "Angel, I'm _sorry."_

* * *

Vader always thought that epiphany would come in waves; it would give way to clarity in a way a pathfinder might bring. He thought it would come at him in the middle of meditation, perhaps a dream while he was resting, giving him unimaginable glee and satisfaction at its revelation. It was what he was taught of—both from the Light and the Dark side of the force.

He'd never thought epiphany would sledgehammer to him here, at cell room number 2187, in the middle of an interrogation session, with an unconscious Alderaanian Princess laying on the floor.

_Unconscious, _Vader told himself, _just unconscious, not—_

Vader almost shivered at the thought of the alternative. He couldn't even bring himself to touch her, now, even if she'd show no resistance. His hands were hovering atop her still-form, trembling and unsure of what to do, perhaps for the first time in a long, long while. She was breathing—shallow, and pained, but _breathing, _and Vader didn't know how he felt about _that. _

"Leia," He tested the name, letting it roll off his tongue—it came out odd and impersonal through the vococorder, and he _hated _it. She'd said it wrong, before—her own name; it was no Alderaanian word, and the accent didn't make sense. It was a Tattooine word, a Tattooine _name; _

"_How about Leia?" He—not _**_him, _**_the other one; the weaker link—said it a longtime ago, in a couch at an apartment that no longer were, next to the love of his life that no longer _**_breathed, _**_caressing the bump of her belly lovingly. _

"_Hm?"_

"_For a name. Leia." He had said, leaning over to her, ears pressed against the belly, expecting a kick from her stomach. Something hit him, then, perhaps a foot, or a hand, or a head-bump, he'd never know, but he'd gleefully take it nonetheless. "See, she agreed!" He laughed, pressing his cheek a little harder, hoping for the baby inside to do more._

_The love of his life, his wife, Padme, merely chuckled as she chided him. "We don't even know if it's a she, yet." _

"_Mmhm. and whose fault is that?"_

"_Well—!" Said Padme, flabbergasted, "Forgive me for wanting it to be a surprise!" She said, playfully pushing him away, much to his chagrin. He fake-whined, hands reaching over to her, wanting to pull her closer. _

"_Aw, Angel, don't do that, I want to spend time with our baby girl—"_

"_Could be a baby boy—" _

"_Baby, then." He amended, and Padme laughed as he kissed the side of her jaw, still engulfed in euphoria of the day's revelation. "But if it's a girl—Leia?" _

_Padme pondered, leaning to his side. "Leia," She had said, with a pronunciation that was not-quite but close enough. "Tell me what it means?" _

_Suddenly he grew flustered, an awkward hand raising to trace idle pattern at the top of her stomach. "It's—" He said, cheeks reddening, "In Tattooine, it means Lioness." He said, looking down to his lap. "Wasn't much of a name as it is a title for untamable women—Jabba used to, like, give it to the female slaves fighting for freedom—" _

"_Ani—"_

"_It's stupid, I know—" _

"_Ani." his jaw was on her palm, tilted down so he could meet her gaze; brown and warm and loving, spreading through his veins. "I love it." She said, genuinely, eyes sparkling with joy. "Leia. Our little lioness." _

_He breathed in relief, leaning closer—_

"_Leia, then." _

He had _named _her himself, and he had _forgotten. _Made himself forget _everything _about the past, about _him _and the old life _he _lived in, and now—the price of his erasure was her _pain. _

She whimpered, then, coughing faintly to the floor. Even in his scarlet-tinted view, he could see how her neck had dark marks adorned on it, like a curse, like something straight out of history, repeating itself—

"_Come back, Ani, you're breaking my heart!" _

The thought of his actions made him nauseous.

"Leia." He said, and even his vococorder couldn't hide the tremble in his tone as his fingers hovered atop the princess' still-form. "Leia, Leia, _Leia_—"

Vader had always avoided her, in the senate building or in his visits to Alderaan, because she reminded him so much of _her; _of an Angel he once loved then _destroyed_. He always thought that she was a coincidence, a cruel reminder the Force made to ridicule him, _not—_

[_Lord Vader, it appears that the subject is unconscious._] the torture droid—IT-O, that was what it was called—piped with a monotone voice, breaking Vader's reverie. [_Should we employ shocking methods to—_]

IT-O didn't continue—_couldn't; _because right that second Vader had bend the force and crushed his frail metal body with his will _only_. The droid beeped for several seconds before its lamps slowly dimmed to death, and Vader stared at its lifeless form, crumpled to the ground like a crushed can.

He looked at the Princess—_Leia, _her name was _Leia _and he had given her that (_Just like he gave her the bruises and the drugs and the mind tricks and the fear)—_and tried to listen to her breathing.

Shallow; they were quick and _shallow, _like she was—

Like his Angel when—

He wanted to scream, but instead he balled his fist and called the force, willing it to swirl around her once more, lifting her up with the gentlest of movement, putting her back at the cold metal bench she first began. Way too cold for her organic skin, Vader knew—but he would have to make do.

"Lord Vader, we heard some noise—" The cell door opened, and three stormtroopers walked in, halting their steps upon seeing him. In hindsight, perhaps it was a strange sight for them—the Emperor's Second in Command crouching over an unconscious prisoner like he was _caring _for her. "Oh."

Several beats of silence, and then—then one of the stormtroopers laughed. "You got her good, didn't you, Sir?" The man suggested, rather cheekily.

Another piped up, almost laughing. "Served her right. She deserves to rot after—"

They never finished their sentence; instead their face contorted into something akin to pain, fear, and shock, mixing into one. Their fingers clawed their throat to remove hands that weren't there, before their body grew slack and limp. It was only then did Vader drop the two stormtroopers, watched them as they crashed to the ground with no resistance.

(_just like she did a few minutes ago, after he—after—_

_He did this to her, too; nearly put her in the same fate, too, if not for—) _

Vader's felt the force buzzing around him, fury fueling their dance as they lashed out—cracking the walls and the floors and the ceilings of the cell; leaving only one small crevice of the room untouched—the place where _she _resided.

The remaining stormtrooper yelped, despite himself, and Vader dragged his eyes to see the trooper. "Fetch me a medical droid." He ordered, coldly, as the force raged around them.

"Sir—?"

"Medical. Droid."

The soldier didn't need much more prompter before he scrambled from where he was, leaving Vader alone once more with the Princess.

No—not just the Princess. _His _princess.

His—

A medical droid came soon after, beeping and bopping in binary about his name and designation. Vader brushed it all briskly, going straight to instruct his order. "You are to nurse the princess. Provide her with every medicine, treatment, therapy—anything necessary to ensure her survival." He said, "Make sure to always keep yourself by her side until she is fully recovered."

[_Certainly, Sir_.] The Medical Droid beeped, [_if I may inquire, what are the causes of her injuries and to what extent it could possibly reach? This might be important to figure out relevant treatment that might work for her needs._]

Vader could feel the crackle of raw power prickling at the tip of his fingers upon being asked such question. He wanted to crush the Droid as well, let her crumple like the Droid before her for making him _remember. _The force around him _lured, _telling him just how easy that would be; to tear the Droid to shreds—

But then Leia groaned, and Vader stopped. _No, _he said, firmly, pushing the temptation away. _No, _this was for her; for her safety and security and wellbeing. So history wouldn't repeat itself.

_Ani—_

Inside the helmet, Vader winced. He worked hard to shove that _name _at the dark crevices of his mind a long time ago, but now it was the only thing echoing through his head; his Angel's voice, saying _Ani, Ani, Ani, Ani—_

_Look at her, Ani; so much of me in her, but also so much of you—_

"See that nothing jeopardizes her recovery," Vader croaked, thankful for the vococorder to hide the weak notch in his voice, before whisking himself away; from this room, from these memories, from _her._


	2. Lioness

Leia Organa woke up to sounds of Droid buzzing, and almost immediately leaped from her position.

[_Miss!_] The Droid before her yelped, startled at her sudden movement. She almost yelled as well, the image of the torture droid still fresh in her mind. Backing herself to the nearest wall, it took her awhile to calm her drumming heart and focus her eyes onto the Droid before her.

Green-white—its color was green-white, not grey-black.

[_Miss?_] Asked the droid in binaryspeak, tone gentle and careful. [_Did I do something that hurts you?_] It continued, earnestly, approaching Leia with the most timid of movement.

Leia leaned over, slightly, eyes narrowing. "You're not—" She said, her voice dry and croaky, "You're not the torture Droid from before." She assessed, her tone unsure. From her peripheral, she saw a cracked metal pile of grey and black, and wondered—was that where the previous one went for his failure to extract information from her? Discarded and replaced by the newer model?

In fact, everything around her was—cracked; broken, somehow. The metal coat of the wall chipped, some of the wiring were bent and snapped, like someone had destroyed this room. The only remaining smooth surface was the metal bench she was residing on, and something swirled within her, as if trying to tell her something—something _important. _

Hearing her statement, the Droid seemed to be highly offended—or as offended as a Droid could be. [_Certainly not!_] it had protested. [_My name is SH-4 and I am the Empire's latest innovation for medical Droid. I would never be designated to inflict pain, much less for such unfortunate reasons!_]

Wait—medical Droid? Leia blinked—once, twice. "Not a torture Droid?" She asked again, trying to be sure.

The Droid beeped in indignance, a rather dramatic move for a Droid, if Leia could say. [_Good grief, no!_] It wheeled front and back, opening compartments that contained pills and gauzes and bandages and standard surgery tools. [_Does this look like an equipment for a torture Droid for you?_]

"Does it?" Leia echoed, now amused more than anything, "with this Empire, one can't ever be so sure." She narrowed her eyes, then, because now that the fear had subsided, it was replaced by something else; curiosity. "Who sent you here?"

Because this little Droid, chirpy and adorable and eager as it was, couldn't possibly roll itself into the room and decided to take care of a random prisoner, could it?

_[Well, I am fetched by Trooper DG-5467—]_

"who?"

_[—under the instructions of Lord Vader—]_

"Who?!"

Leia's yelp startled the Droid, and the little bot made unintelligible beep-bop that made Leia's already pounding head growing even dizzier. _[Miss, you're startling me!] _protested it, whirring around in circles as Leia sat there, stunned.

Vader had sent a medical Droid for her? _For what?_

_[Miss? You're growing very pale. Are you—]_

"What is your designation?" Croaked Leia, as she backed away from the Droid instinctively. "Your instructions, what was it?"

The Droid—SH-4, was it?—tilted its head, as if curious. _[Why to nurse you, of course,] _it beeped in binary. _[I was given the orders to not leave your side until you regain your optimum physical health!] _It's claw hand pointed at Leia's hand, then, and Leia's gaze trailed the direction. _[That's why I was fixing your right metacarpophalangeal and interphalangeal joints. I have also drained some of the potions in your system, though some of them may linger and make you nauseous...]_

Leia narrowed her eyes at her knuckles; bandaged neatly and carefully, with a distinct smell of disinfectant oozing from the wrap. She could feel a faint stinging on her part, a sign that the wound had not fully healed yet, but it was well on its way to recovery.

She turned to the Droid, eyebrows raising in suspicion. "Who gave these orders, SH-4?" She asked, almost accusative.

_[Oh, Dear, did the young Miss hit her crania? Because I am 98.7% sure that I have mentioned of Lord Vader's instructions before—]_

_Wait, what? _

Leia closed her eyes, her good hand rising, extending her fingers in surrender, "hold up, _hold up._" She said, shaking her head, and only then noticing how _dizzying _it was for her to do that. "_Vader?" _She asked, incredulously. "Vader _himself_ told you to _nurse _me?"

_[Affirmative, Miss.]_

"He didn't give you any other orders?"

_[Such as—?]_

"Oh, I don't _know!" _Leia bristled, frustration surfacing to the cracks now that there was no one—well, no organics, at least—to supervise her. "To shoot me when I'm not looking; to poison my food with another hallucinogens; to threaten me with a knife—didn't you have a knife? In that small compartment of yours?" Leia narrowed her eyes at the little Droid suspiciously.

_[The knives at my disposal are surgical knives! Used only for emergency purposes!] _The Droid was now being very defensive. _[And my instructions are clear, Miss; it is to only nurse you until you are at your best physical health, and oversee that nothing jeopardizes your recovery.] _

This time, Leia couldn't help it; she laughed—almost cackled, actually—until her throat were hoarse and her mouth bitter and her stomach sick. She laughed until she heaved, because _Vader? _

He was the one who tried to _save her? _

_[Is something humoring you, Miss?] _

"No, no, it's just—" Leia was almost hysterical when she spoke again. "This has _got _to be a joke, right?" She said, scooting over with a wild grin.

_[Beg your pardon?]_

"Him! Telling you to do _this!" _Leia's hands flailed around, trying to emphasize what she meant; the bandaged knuckles, the ration bar at the corner of the bench, hell, even the water, she just realized; a full jug of them, just for _her. _"This is another one of his manipulation isn't it? He'd build me back up and lure me into a false sense of safety, wishing my defenses would weaken in trust and then—" Leia snapped her fingers, "he'd torture me again, just like he did the last time, won't he?"

SH-4 beeped, almost worriedly. _[Miss, I don't think you should work yourself too much—] _it tried to reason, mechanical limb trying to reach Leia's arm to catch it as gently as possible, attempting to put the wounded hand in place.

"Don't touch me!" Leia almost shrieked, standing immediately to avoid the Droid. It seemed nice, and harmless, but Leia couldn't afford to trust it—or anything and anyone else in this base, _really_, because they were all Imperials and they were her _enemies._

They wanted to torture her, ruin her to shreds just mere hours ago—and now they were trying to _heal her _in good faith_? _

No, she didn't buy that. Vader would be _stupid _if he thought she'd _buy _that.

She was about to open her mouth again to say something, when the cell door opened—and two stormtroopers arrived, their guns at ease but still threatening nonetheless.

"Princess." They said, monotonously. "The Governor is expecting you at the viewing deck." One of them continued, standing still by the door.

Leia narrowed her eyes at them, her anger and spite rising up upon the mention of the title. She had an inkling to who the officer was, and she spitefully told them, "Well the kriffing governor can shove it right in his—"

"This is not an invitation, princess." Said the other guard, and suddenly they were mauling her; grabbed her by the arms and dragging her out forcefully, leaving the door locked behind them. Much like they did the first time they caught her from her ship. Leia's protests died in her throat when one of the blasters were pressed onto the nape of her neck. But really—should she be surprised?

The viewing deck was clear, buzzing with people getting things done. Someone announced that they were entering the Alderaanian system, and Leia's heartbeat skipped, her stomach knotting.

Something in her gut told her that something about to be very, _very_ wrong.

"What are we doing in the Alderaanian system?" She asked, her voice slightly shaky as she turned wildly at the stormtroopers beside her.

"To pay a visit on one of our sub-governments, of course." A voice answered her from the far side of the deck, and Leia turned to see the Grand Moff Tarkin, tipping his hat to her in mock-salute. "Princess."

Ah. So her guess was right, then.

Beside him, Vader had turned as well, his masked eyes turning into her direction. Leia fought the urge to squirm under his gaze, forcing herself not to wonder what was in his head, especially since—

_"The woman—in your dreams; who is that!?"_

_Something, clawing its way to close her windpipes, preventing her to breathe and she choked, gasped and spluttered from the pain—_

_"Don't lie to me!"_

Leia gulped, shoving all the frayed nerves into the pit of her stomach as she was dragged to face him. "Governor Tarkin." She turned all her attention to the Governor instead, hoping that no one noticed the crack in her voice, or the slight gloss in her eyes, "I should have expected to find you holding Vader's leash. I recognized your foul stench when I was brought on board."

From her peripheral, she could see Vader—_flinching_?—at her words, as if she had personally offended him. Tarkin's smile dimmed as well, turning sour at her insinuation. Well, Leia amended—she had no business taking care of feelings of two tyrants. This war was of their own making, after all. They had deserved whatever insults coming their way.

Tarkin rolled his eyes at her, giving her a smirk. "Charming to the last." He sneered, and Leia gave him a smirk in return. "You don't know how hard I found it, signing the order to terminate your life."

Oh. _Oh._

So she really was going to _die._

Leia's gut twisted into something painful and unrecognizable, as she fought to swallow the bile that came rising in her throat. _Death._

All she could think of was the woman in her dreams—her _mother; _with her beautiful sad smile. At the back of her mind, she wondered how the woman would feel; her daughter dying at such an early age, at such a tragic way.

_("Proud," _she could almost hear her say, if she tried to listen, "_I'm proud of you, Leia.")_

"I'm surprised—" she tilted her chin, despite the fear and dread filling her system. She would not let him have the last words on her, "that you had the courage to take the responsibility yourself." Her words came out slightly shaky, but she held high, looking at Tarkin defiantly.

Tarkin laughed, shrugging, like the matter of her death was as simple as a matter of the weather today. He looked away to his men, as if signaling, _can you believe this little girl, _and Leia's fury only grew, spreading through her veins like wildfire.

Vader, on the other hand, seemed to be unnaturally tense at Tarkin's words, his eye-holes glued to her the whole conversation. Leia wondered if he was the one tasked to kill her. A fitting job—after all; what was a mercenary with no target?

"Princess Leia, before your execution, I would like you to be my guest at a ceremony that'll make this battle station operational." Tarkin's voice pulled her out of her reverie, and Leia blinked, turning her attention from Vader to him. Tarkin looked especially smug as he continued. "No star system will dare oppose the Emperor now."

Leia glanced around at the fuss—she could recognize what this place was; a command control for attacks. She could see, from the clear viewing deck, how one limb of this ship had been idly pointing at random since the very beginning, as if playing _eenie-meenie-miney-moo _to pick its target.

Her entire body grew cold.

Pressing her lips tight, Leia scrambled to gain as much composure as she could muster. "The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin," She spoke, tauntingly, "the more star systems will slip through your fingers."

Tarkin actually _cackled _at that, like Leia was just some petulant child naively suggesting an impossible idea to her amused parents. "Not after we demonstrate the power of this station." He said, slyly, "In a way, you have determined the choice of the planet that'll be destroyed first. Since you are reluctant to provide us with the location of the Rebel base, I have chosen to test this station's destructive power on—" He trailed his eyes to the biggest planet that was facing the window—the one adorned with lush greeneries and clear blue water, the planet Leia knew oh-so-well. "your home; _Alderaan_."

Leia's knees nearly buckled at that, all colors drained from her face. _No, no, no, no, no no nonononono— _"Alderaan is peaceful!" _no not my home not my people not my family not my entire life— _"We have no weapons, you can't possibly—"

Everything around her was swirling, building up tension as Leia's breath hitched, her chest constricting. She felt buzzing around her—the buzz that always came whenever something big was about to happen, something definitive, something _life changing. _

_Not Papa not Mama not Winter not—_

Tarkin clicked his tongue, rather impatiently. "Then you would prefer another target, perhaps a military one, would you not?" He taunted. "Perhaps—your rebel base?"

All the cells in her body screamed for and against her, conflicting and warring one another as Leia made the most important decision in her lifetime.

_Alderaan or Yavin? _

_Her home or the rebellion?_

'_**Tell him Leia,'**_ a voice rang in her head, telling her urgently, '_**tell him, if it could perhaps buy some time for your safety—'**_

But no, _wait, _that wasn't _her _voice, it was a man's, accented and desperate and calling her name with an odd-sound, almost like—like _Layah, _not _Leia. _Whoever owned the voice, he was _fearful—_she could feel desperation spilling through, the want to reach her, to warn her, to—_protect her? _

"I grow tired of asking this question, Princess, where is—"

"_Dantooine!" _Leia almost yelled her answer, internally shielding her mind to prevent any of them—but especially Vader—from verifying her answer. She remembered Dantooine from her diplomacy lesson; deserted and wasted planet with no organic occupants—they could do. "It's in Dantooine." She heaved, glaring at Tarkin with glassy eyes, cheeks flushed with emotions.

Nodding, Tarkin turned to Vader with a rather large grin. "There, you see, Lord Vader? She can be reasonable." He said, with tone for pleasantries, before turning to the people in the cockpit, almost boredly saying. "Continue with the operation, gentlemen; fire at will."

"_What?!"_

And then—a fireball appeared in her peripheral, and Leia instinctively turned to see just in time as the shot delved its way closer, and closer, and closer, and—

The space was an empty vacuum of a place, and no sound could travel with the absence of a medium, yet somehow, as her planet shattered into little pieces, Leia could hear _every single scream; _fear, desperation, _anguish. _They all tore her conscience, shredded her guts to little pieces as she trembled from the shock.

Leia blinked once, and then it was silent.

Alderaan was _no more. _

_No, no, no, no, no—_

Tarkin spoke some more, but Leia's mind was—was _loud; _deafening, filled with too much distraught and despair to process the words, or anything else, really, because _it was her home, her people, the Empire just committed genocide to her people—_

"—_akh!"_

It took Leia a while to process what had happened; her fist hitting Tarkin's face, her bandaged knuckle stinging as the bleeding start anew. It took Leia even longer to process the tears streaming down her cheeks, or the tremble on her lips, or the buzz around her, jabbing and filling her senses.

And Tarkin—Tarkin was _slammed_, several meters away, looking as stunned as she felt.

_How—?_

The impression didn't last long, though, as Tarkin scrambled to stand and spit on the ground, red with—_blood, just like those people in Alderaan, bleeding, torn and destroyed because of her. She did this, she caused their death, she— _"Why, Princess," Tarkin hissed, dangerously, as she stared at him with blurred eyesight and flushed cheeks, "Who would have known that Bail and Breha Organa had produced such a little _brat?" _

Him mentioning Mama and Papa's name made her blood _boil. _Leia stared at Tarkin intensely, lower lip bit down so hard it drew _blood, _and she wanted to do it again, wanted to punch him again, for as much as her hand would allow her, because _that was her home, her people, her family—her mama papa sister friends—_

And then suddenly, suddenly Tarkin was—_flying? _

Leia blinked, and—_no, _floating; something, _someone—_had lifted him mid-air. His smug face contorted into something akin to pain, as his hands clawed his throat for something, as if—

Leia turned to Vader, who, for the first time since she had arrived here, had averted his gaze from her. Instead he was staring up at Tarkin, right hand raised in a squeezing motion, and suddenly Leia felt a memory resurfacing from a slightly earlier time in cell number 2187, where it was _her _instead, floating mid-air as Vader—as Vader _clogged _her respiratory system.

A faint feeling prickled her throat, and Leia swallowed dryly, stunned shock in the way Vader's hand ruthlessly _crushed _without much of a thought_. _She could feel his anger, even _here_, tasting it thick on her mouth, breathing it in with air. Tarkin gasped for several seconds before crumpling to the ground, motionless—_lifeless. _It took Leia a split second of frozen silence before—

'_**Leia, run!'**_

That voice again, echoing in her head. Leia didn't waste time musing on _who the hell it was, _thinking _hey, _maybe she'd finally lost her goddamn mind—and elbowed both guards on her side before picking one of their blasters and sprinted to the alley where she came from. She didn't look back, not having the guts to see if anyone else was chasing her as she went away.

If she did, she might have seen the source of her mysterious phantom voice, there; standing in-between the commanding deck and the hallway she had disappeared into—standing to shield _her. _


	3. The Untamed

Vader had never felt more distraught in his life than he felt right now. Not even when the dreams about his mother and his wife had assaulted him _every night, _plaguing his conscience. No, this was—this was _different. _

Because the anguish of his daughter were no dreams, were no mere prophecies—no, they were very much _real; _palpable and painful and _real, _swirling into one with the force she unknowingly carried with her.

When Tarkin had informed him earlier that she was to be executed if she continued to refuse cooperation, it had taken every inch of Vader not to went berserk and kill the Governor on the spot. The smug look on his face and the presumption that Vader would be all too pleased at handling the killing himself was nearly enough to send him nauseous.

In the back of his head, a small part of him asked; _is this what they know me of? The mercenary with no mercy? _

_**But were you not? **_Asked another voice in return, musing, _**Would you not have bat an eye or hold your breath at the thought of the execution, had it been another person? **_

His head was starting to pound, and dread started to fill his chest with the thoughts of _what-ifs_, so he stopped that trail of thoughts.

He wanted to do _so many things _to save her, but he knew that any blatant negotiative attempt on her survival would tick the Emperor, and then he could—

"_It seems that in rage, you have killed her." _

"_No!" _

So instead, he organized a meeting between her and the Governor —a thinly veiled desperate attempt to spare her life. He was hoping that someway, _somehow,_ with the meeting taking place, Tarkin would unsign the death sentence and she could be freed.

Of course, he expected her to come with a fight. She was _defiant; _chin high even as Tarkin announced her death rather gleefully.

_(He wanted to both yell at her and for her at the blatant display of bravery—he was reminded of another royalty in another time, looking at her political opponents in their eyes, refusing to give up the cause she could so easily do at her convenience._

_she got that from her mother.) _

But then—then Tarkin decided to blow up _Alderaan _to _taunt her, _and Vader could see all the wit and resilience being drained out of her. Could see how her eyes widened, how her knees buckled, how her voice wobbled, and his chest pounded in tandem with hers. When he tried to reach out to her, to beg her to answer, she instead flinched and instinctively looked down, trying to regulate her breathing—

_(like she did back in the cell, just mere hours ago; back when he—) _

Vader pulled the Dark back as fast as he could just as she desperately yelled "_Dantooine!" _to the smug Governor.

"See, Lord Vader? She can be reasonable," Oh how Vader _hated _that voice, wanted nothing more than to just destroy its owner. Tarkin's smile widened, almost menacing, and it was far too late when Vader realized the implication of his next words. "Continue with the operation, gentlemen; fire at will."

Even in his powers—whether physical or through the force—he couldn't do anything as the missile made its way straight into the planet his daughter was raised in. He blinked _once. _

And Alderaan _shattered. _

Vader heard millions of desperate screams through the force, but the loudest one originated not from the distance of the planet, but rather from this room; from a girl whose mouth was screwed shut and her eyes burn with something akin to _disbelief. _

He could see her hand, clenched tight into balled fists, so much like her mother—his _wife—_when she was upset. Could see the tears starting to gather at the brink of her eyelids, threatening to fall. There was something even more heart-shattering about her composure even in times of despair like this—her refusal to show emotions, despite how _greatly _she was hurting in the force.

Chopped loop of _mama papa winter my people _was blaring through the force, reminding him of how thin the shields in her head was right then, how vulnerable—

_(Because of him because of him because of him—)_

Vader wouldn't even wish for his enemies to have to ever learn on compartmentalizing and shoving down emotions for the sake of duty. To see the Princess—_his _Princess, _his—_gritting her teeth and forcing herself to _endure _in silence reminded him of the war-torn land that was his thoughts, forced to be contained in, first by his slavers, then by the Jedi.

The Jedi—_they _had done this. Their course of actions had her taken away from him. And for that very reason she was now in _pain_.

Vader felt a new rage arising—his own. Anger at the Jedi and the separatists, for turning his own daughter against him; angry at his Master, for lying to him of her existence; but above all angry at Wilhuff Tarkin.

For attempting to execute his daughter—to _murder her_. For inflicting _unimaginable pain _to his Princess' psyche when they chose to _destroy_ her instead.

His anger were so all-consuming, he struggled for a while to see beyond the rage—only to find the Grand Moff already halfway flying from where he stood, yelping in pain—and _surprise. _

Next to him, his daughter's arm was still extended, the stitched wound bleeding anew. She had _punched _the Governor, not only with her fist but also with the _force, _which answered her calls for the first time without her even knowing it. Her feelings were everywhere; Shock, turning to grief, then rage, then spite, then _determination. _

_Leia. Lioness. The Untamed. _

She lived up to her name, even if she was oblivious to it.

"Why, Princess," Tarkin wiped his mouth away, and Vader could see that the spit he let out, tinted darker, tinted with _blood_, "Who would have known that Bail and Breha Organa had produced such a little _brat?" _

If Leia's emotions were rage, then his were downright _fury. _

Because Wilhuff Tarkin was _wrong;_ Leia were not of the Organas', no matter her last name or her title; she was _his—_his and Padme's, with Tatooine sand and Naboo's greeneries running in her veins. She was _his, _and she was wonderful—spirited and strong and _wonderful, _a blessing, someone who should not be referred to with such _contempt _or _disgust _the way Tarkin just did to her.

Tarkin had insulted something that was _his_, and he did not take such insinuation lightly.

He had moved faster than he had thought; in a split second, his hand was raised, extending at Tarkin's direction, and _squeezed. _

The effect had been immediate; the Governor was lifted ungracefully from where he was half-standing, his entire smug face contorted into pure _pain_. His fingers clawed for hands that weren't there, as Vader crushed and _crushed, _making sure that he no longer _breathed_.

_This was what he got for breaking his daughter, for trying to kill her, for making her feel so devastated, for insulting her—_

_**but isn't that your doings as well?**_

Vader blinked, his concentration shattered as he released the man from his grip, his breath heaving and echoing through the steel walls. He could feel all of the troopers eyeing him, half-fearful on what he would do next, but his focus was only to one person.

Across him, his daughter was staring at him with wide eyes, disbelief coloring her features. He could see the teartracks, still fresh on her cheeks, could see the lips being bitten so hard it drew blood. When he moved his arm slightly out of reflex to look at her, she had flinched unconsciously, and he had _ached. _

For she was only nineteen—_nineteen _and he had set her down to the path of _loss _way greater than his were. For she was hurt, and she was afraid; of this battle station, of the people around her, of the Fate looming before her, of the dark force circling her like she was their prey.

_Of him. _

His chest constricted in pain, the breathing relief his respirator had provided somehow making things _worse _because he shouldn't be able to breathe, should be just as pained as she felt right now; because she was _his—_and he shouldn't have hurt what was his and yet he _did_, and continued to do _so—_

He looked at her, committing her face to memory; the flushed tint of her cheeks, the glassy shine in her eyes, the deepening creases in her forehead. _The last time, _he determined to himself, _this is the last time she will ever cry because of __**this**__._

So for the first time in _twenty years, _Vader closed his eyes and did something he'd never thought he would ever have to do again—

_There is no emotion, there is peace.  
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.  
There is no passion, there is serenity.  
There is no chaos, there is harmony.  
There is no death, there is the Force._

—and the light had _answered. _

Swallowing his surprise, Vader used this moment to send her another message, this time as gentle as possible; one she didn't even know she had received, one that would have shaken her out of her reverie and _survive._

_Leia, _he called her, with a voice that used to belong to a boy with bright blue eyes, _run. _

Leia—pronounced _Lai-yah, _not _Lei-a, _because she was _his, __**his**_ and he would start teaching her what it meant to bear the deserts in her veins—had blinked; once, twice, before elbowing both guards and fishing out one of their guns with her good hand, and _ran_.

Vader could see the troopers being jostled out of their trance, as well, drawing their weapons ready to pursue her, and he moved quicker than he thought.

The force field that he generated was massive, slamming the troopers back, sending several of them to hit the walls and the clear glass. "Stay. In. Your. Place." He said, the gritty voice coming out from his vococorder striking fear into the remaining troopers that could still stand.

All these troopers and officers exchanged glances, and Vader could feel their uncertainty swirling within the deck. "Sir," said one officer after a while of tense silence. "What must we do?"

Vader glared at them, channelling all the force that would answer his call to bend them at his will. "_Nothing." _He said, willing for his words to penetrate their conscience. "You all will do _nothing, _you hear me?"

Their rigid stances grew relaxed, their words echoing his, and some tension in his shoulder chipped. A selfish part of him reached for her presence, and was relieved when he found her burning like an eternal flame, stubborn and fierce.

_Leia. Lioness. The Untamed. _

He knew he couldn't influence all the people in this blasted warmonger, and that soon enough, the troopers and officers were bound to chase her after a while, nonetheless—but he hoped that the time he bought her would be enough for her to get away.

_(A little part of him took pride of her resilience, resourcefulness—he was reminded of another royalty in another time, picking her way out of the cuff, before flipping herself to reach atop the deadly arena._

_she got that from her mother.) _

Later, he might have to do some damage controls; falsify several documents, delete some strategic footages, and even alter these troopers' memories, one by one, so that his actions were not to be caught by the Emperor, but it was worth it.

He looked at Wilhuff Tarkin, crumpled down the floor with little to nothing to hold him by but the remnants of his name, and steeled his resolve.

If it meant he was giving his daughter some semblance of safety, then it was _worth it_.

* * *

_**Interlude.**_

There was a shift in the force—surprising and urgent. For the first time in years, the imbalance in the world _tilted_—only slightly, but it _tilted._

Yoda was so startled from his meditation he almost toppled over mid-air and _fell_, because it felt like breathing a fresher air after decades of inhaling pollution.

Dagobah was in the far-end of the outer rim, at the brink of the universe, teetering to nonexistence. But even from here, the ancient Jedi master could feel it; the force, swirling around him like a relieved choir.

He instead lowered himself down, stunned at the revelation. Looking around, he tried to reach out again, tentatively, halfway expecting for his senses to be at fault.

When his eyes widened at the sensation, an amused voice called out behind him, _"I told you, didn't I?" _

Qui-Gon Jinn was leaning on to one of the trees, giving his old acquaintance a small smile. "Master Jinn," said Yoda, tilting his head slightly to greet the force-ghost.

_"My old friend." _Said Qui-Gonn, as his form slowly approached him, before taking a seat right across Yoda. Their eyes leveled to one another, one twinkling in joy and the other shining in surprise. _"You look quite stunned. Has the new development reached your conscience?" _

Yoda looked at him intently, his forehead creasing. "Foresee this, I do not." He said, honestly. "A revelation, this is."

_"Why yes." _replied Qui-Gonn, chuckling. _"Then again, is anything ever _not _a revelation with him?" _He said, eyes twinkling in mirth.

Yoda pressed her lips, "hold our breath, we should not," he narrowed his eyes, "decided for him, the force has yet. Still standing, our beliefs are."

Qui-Gonn hummed, agreeing. _"While I do agree, my friend, think of it like this—_" his eyes brightened, waiting, "_have you ever wanted to be proven wrong more in your life, than you do in this moment?" _

Pursing his lips, Yoda fell into a contemplation—perhaps for the first time in a long, long, while. He held the long withstanding teachings of the temple dear to his heart.

_Sith cannot change into a Jedi, for those who fall into the darkness would go too mad to reach the light. _

But _the shift—_

"Yes." Yoda finally said, solemnly, causing Qui-Gonn's smile to _bloom_. "Proven wrong, I would love to be."


	4. Luke

The revelation came in streams, just not the kind of stream you thought it would be.

R2D2's incessant beeping was growing only louder just as Han was sneakily trying to insert the Millenium Falcon into the Death Star's hangar as inconspicuous as possible. It was hard, but the rather large chunks of asteroid coming their way helped hiding their ships in-between the massive space debris, albeit they did have to maneuver rather expertly here and there.

(No, not space debris, nor were they asteroids; they were Alderaanian remnants, Ben had said before—shattered pieces of a planet destroyed and silenced _just like that_—)

The unit was now bumping Luke's leg, using its claw to hold him back.

Luke turned at the little Droid, unsure. What was first could be dismissed as simple concern from a bot was now downright intriguing—and odd, seeing how panicked R2D2 seemed, its light blinking in rapid succession. While he could translate simple binaryspeak, he was still unfamiliar with the terms used in the droid world beyond technical ones necessary for their maintenance.

"Can someone tell the little guy to shut up, please?" Han's note was growingly frustrated as he piloted the Falcon, "trying to focus here so we don't—you know—get killed."

The Droid only beeped even faster, his voice coming out jumbled and stacked, as the claw to Luke's pants tightened. Luke could faintly catch the words _primary _and _corrupted _and _variants, _and he seemed to be highly worried about Luke going aboard the Death Star, but Luke couldn't make sense of the details coming out of him.

Ben Kenobi seemed to understand it just fine, though.

(Obi-Wan, not _Ben; _Luke kept having to remind himself that. _Ben _was a facade, was a lie—the princess said his name was Obi-Wan and he was a Jedi war general, not a hermit town freak, and Luke honestly didn't know _what _to believe anymore—)

The old man glared at the astromerch Droid, his complexion slightly paling as he called him out. _"Artoo." _He said, voice laced with something akin to a warning. "Remember your _oath." _

[_my oath is to protect the Variants!] _Artoo replied, beeping angrily at Ben—no, _Obi-Wan, _damn it, Luke was getting frustratingly confused— _[one has been caught—I will not let another one be captured as well!]_

Luke didn't understand what the hell were they talking about, but he sure as heck wouldn't want to let Han and Ben go down there on their own. No offense, but the latter was rather old and frail, and the other's loyalty was to the money, not the cause. _Someone _must at least be reliable to be able to save the princess.

_And what can you do, hm? _Taunted the voice in his head, _you're just a farm boy from an outer-rim planet, what can you do? _

_Something, _Luke retorted, stubbornly, as he crouched down to Artoo. "Hey, hey Artoo—" he said, trying to get the Droid's attention back at him. "I'm gonna be _fine, _alright? I got Han, Chewie, and Ben with me, we have a _solid_ plan, so I'm gonna be _fine."_

(Luke wondered, at the back of his mind, on why was the Droid seemingly so attached to him, despite this being their first encounter. _Variant, _that was what Artoo had referred him to when he first communicated with Ben, and Luke had wondered what it meant.)

Artoo trilled something about him being naive and reckless and reminding him of his primary, which was kind of pounding Luke's head even more in trying to decipher what he meant. But the Droid finally let go of Luke's pants, earning a sigh from the boy.

He turned to approach Han, who was perhaps on his last steps of landing in the massive ship's hangar. "How's your knuckle, kid?" He asked, eyes still glued to the navicomputer.

Luke tried to flex his right hand at that, reflexively, and winced when it hurt anew. He didn't even know what had caused it—only the fact that it had gotten unbearably painful since last night, up to the point where he couldn't really grab anything without holding back a groan. It was even sporting quite the blooming bruise, adorning his skin like delicately poisonous flowers.

When he told about it to Ben, he merely turned around and urged Han that they must hurry, for the princess was in grave danger.

So, "it's manageable," was what Luke said—a courtesy answer for a courtesy question. Han nodded absent-mindedly as he landed the ship, readying his blaster at its hilt.

"You both go ahead, find the Princess." Said Ben, just before Han opened the ship door. "I will disable the security measures, hoping that they won't catch you by then." His voice was almost cheeky if it wasn't so tense.

The door opened only to find two stormtroopers with weapons ready at their grips. "State your business with the Empire." They said, monotonously, their helmets tilting slightly, expecting a quick answer.

"Uh," Han said, before grabbing his blaster from his hip at lightspeed, firing them at will. They two troopers yelped, falling on their knees, crumpling down with tremors. "Well that was quicker than I thought."

Luke gaped at the pilot, looking at him with disbelief. "What? It's a stunner!" Han defensively said, shaking his weapon slightly. "They'll be alright—just passed out from having too much electricity in their system." He shrugged, almost nonchalantly, before narrowing his eyes to Luke. "Now come on, help me drag them!"

Turning to the old man, hoping he'd get some sort of moral support, Luke found Ben shrugging instead, as if agreeing with Han's offhand statement, before pointing at the two unconscious troopers. "You do need the uniforms," He said, suggestively, "you know—for the plan to work."

There was a twinkle in his eyes, as if this was an adventure Ben had longed for a while, but then the old man turned at Luke, his expression turning somber. "My boy," he said, softly, "be careful out there—the ghosts of the past you did not know may come and seek you."

Before Luke could even say anything, Ben hurried away, not waiting for any replies from Luke or Han.

"Huh. Now I know why he's the town cook." Said Han, raising an eyebrow as Ben disappeared from their sight at the first turn he took.

"Oh, My! Does he even know where he needs to go?" Threepio's fretted, his tone worried as always, as Han made way to walk down the deck, towards the unconscious men at the end of the stairs.

"That'll be his problem, not ours." He grunted, lifting one of the men by their armpits. "he'll probably have that force mumbo-jumbo shit, uh, I don't know, lead the way or something…"

The rest of Han's words grew muffled, as Luke's interest picked up something else—not of any sound, but a tune all the same; like a faint choir calling him to. Strange—he'd never felt anything like this before, and yet—

"_Skywalker!" _

Luke jumped, startled, head whipping at Han. The smuggler was glaring at him, motioning the other trooper with his head. "I said _help me;_ we don't have all day."

Luke blinked, and the tune was gone. When Han called again, he almost jumped in another surprise, before begrudgingly going down to help him. It took them a while, the nearest cupboard was kind of too small to shove two grown men inside, and the uniform was way too tall on his part, but they finally managed to stuff themselves into the attire, much to his relief. "Chewie," Han said, turning to their Wookie friend when they were done. "You ready?"

When Chewie roared in return, Luke took that as a yes.

They were only several steps in when they were stopped by another trooper with a different-colored suit—perhaps a platoon commander? "What are you doing idly walking this way?!" Said trooper yelled, voice muffled slightly by the helmet. "Didn't you get the memo?!"

Han and Luke exchanged glances, and for a split second Luke was worried that Han would pull his blaster—stunner, whatever—and shoot the man just like he did his predecessor, so he took over the interaction, deepening his voice slightly as he said, "we've, uh. We just arrived." He said, almost lamely, channeling all his might to anything, _anything, _so that the man before them would believe him and leave them alone. "We're transferring this, um, prisoner?" He said, motioning to Chewie, hoping the trooper would let them go.

Around him, there was a swirling sensation, as if something was moving—_working. _

The trooper leaned slightly, as if suspiciously, before suddenly retracting himself, straightening his posture and said. "You are transferring the prisoner." He said, almost stoically, "you've just… arrived."

the way he had say it—Luke was quite stunned. "Uh. Yeah." He said, blinking, focusing on the man who was suddenly very calm and composed, as opposed to his previously heated opening.

"Very well." Said the man, nodding, before bristling away from Luke and Han like he didn't see them.

The second his back disappeared on the intersection, Han turned to Luke. "Whatever the hell that was," he said, jabbing a finger to where the stormtrooper had gone to, "you're handling the speaking from now on."

"Uh," Luke said, still dazed, because _what the hell was that, _indeed.

Han took no time to grab Luke's arm and dragged him to continue scrounging the ship, Chewie following in tow. There were still many people around them as they made their way through, commanders and troopers and everyone in-between, yet no one seemed to pay them any attention. Instead, most of them were tense, on alert, as if they were looking for something—or some_one._

Luke hoped that Ben and the bots were safe, wherever they were.

The ship was a cluster of complex alleyways and dead-ends, and the only information Luke had gotten was that the princess had been possibly imprisoned—_possibly_. He couldn't even get validity on that note.

Nevertheless, they started at the prison ward anyway. "She's gotta be here somewhere." Said Luke, distractedly, as they took the elevator towards level five. "It's just a ship, how hard can it be?"

His focus was on somewhere else now, for that tune was calling him _again_—like he was getting closer to _home, _even if Tatooine was lightyears away from where he was standing.

"Its size is as big as an _entire planet." _Han countered, rather impatiently, which was echoed by Chewie in agreement, "now, shut up, someone could—"

The elevator dinged, and Han snapped his mouth shut, straightening themselves and ushering Chewie with an exaggerated roughness. They were immediately greeted by the floor's command control, with a uniformed officer standing right in front of them.

Said uniformed officer raised an eyebrow upon seeing them, "where are you taking this… thing?" He said, sneering at his referral to Chewie. The way he had said it—like a slaver calling for the slaves they owned—made Luke's blood boil.

Even faraway, outside of Tatooine, the slavers still found a way, change the name of the game yet still enforcing the same regime.

He suddenly felt a nudge to his foot, and turned at Han, who tilted his head slightly, putting him back to reality. _In charge of speaking. Right. _"We're here for, um, prison transfer. To cell-block 1138?"

The commander narrowed his eyes at them, giving them a suspicious stare. He wasn't buying it. "I wasn't notified. I would have to check it." He said, leaning over to the control panel. "Can't be too careful, can we, now even with that damned Princess at large—"

Wait. The princess—she _escaped? _

He turned at Han, exchanging glances for a second before simultaneously giving Chewie their batons, grabbing the blasters on their hilt, and _fired._ Luke's shots were shaky, and his left hand was out of practice, but his right hand still hurt and a shaky shot would still be better than not being able to shoot at all.

Luke was too busy targeting the troopers at his right he almost completely missed the trooper ambushing from the other side until Han yelled, "Kid, your _left!"_

When Luke turned, he thought it was too late; the trooper was ready to point his blaster at him, aiming to shoot, and Luke closed his eyes, fear lacing to his system, when a loud _bang _was released—

And he wasn't hurt.

"Hands up!"

Both Luke and Han jumped, startled, before turning slowly to the source of the voice.

_[Miss, I really don't think that you should point a weapon at another being—]_

"Shush, SH-4."

Before them, a girl was raising her gun at their direction, face gritty with determination. There were bruises on her throat, and a tearing wound on her lip, making her look like she'd just been out from a fight. The recording in Artoo's possession was a bit blurred, but Luke could recognize the unique hairstyle—and the bright brown eyes. "Princess Leia?" He asked, hopefully.

Leia narrowed her eyes at him, visibly pondering on something that he said. "Do. Not. Move." She said, lifting the blaster higher. Luke noticed that she was holding it with her left hand instead of her right, which was unusual, and then his eyes trailed down to her right hand, which was—

"Your hand." Luke heard himself say, "it's injured." In the same place as _his, _too, which was—odd.

The princess tilted her head, slightly, cocking the blaster with only one hand as she did so. "Doesn't mean I can't take a couple of short stormtroopers like you down." She replied, tone threatening.

Blinking, Luke was confused, until—_oh. _"No, no, we're not stormtroopers!" He said, lifting his right and left hand in reflex to open up his helmet, "my name is Luke Skywalker and—_ow!" _

Luke had forgotten how hurtful his right hand was, only now remembering when he flexed his fingers. His helmet, only halfway opened, revealed his face partially to the princess in a rather embarrassing manner.

Next to him, Han made an impatient noise and pulled Luke's helmet all the way out, before pulling his, as well. "This kid cracked your message from that chirpy blue astromerch—"

"R2D2?"

"—and we're here to bust you out, Your Worship." Han said, shoving Luke's helmet to in-between his left arm and side. The princess turned slightly so now she was facing the smuggler. "Whoa, easy now Princess." He said, raising his hand defensively. "you shoot the Pilot, and you'll most definitely lose your ride to freedom."

The princess lowered her gun, slowly, still eyeing them suspiciously, but to Luke especially. Luke, too, was staring at her intently—something in his head nagging him to _think. _

There was something about her, something familiar beyond the hairstyle or the attire; It was like a hole in his chest mended back by her presence.

_Dreams of a different life, a different reality, haunting him for as long as he could remember. Dreams of lush greeneries, of clear blue waters, of a high castle, of a brunette with bright brown eyes crinkling with laughter. _

His eyes widened. Hers as well. They walked closer, slowly, slowly—like a planet realigning to their axis.

Han was talking, his tone urgent and tense, but it faded away into the background, muffled and distorted. Luke's focus was somewhere else.

Around them, the tune was swirling, harmonizing. It almost felt like they were... _singing. _

The Princess—_Leia_, her name was _Leia _and he felt like he had known her his _whole life_, as if he'd known her as old as he had known _time_—opened her mouth simultaneously as he was about to say something.

"_I—" _

_Bang, bang, bang._

"There she is!"

Luke's eyes widened, his focus at her breaking at the flock of stormtroopers rapidly running their way from the hallway she had came from. The princess, impressively, quickly turned her back and shot with little to no hesitation, knocking down some of the troopers. Even Chewie exclaimed in surprise.

Luke felt her before he saw her _dragging _him and Han to the opposite direction, and then the four of them were stumbling as they ran for their lives, the Princess' panicking Droid trailing them not far behind.

"Where is the ship at?!" Yelled the Princess to no one in particular, causing no one to reply at her for several milliseconds. So she turned at Han, and tried again, "Nerfherder! Where is _your _ship at?!"

Luke watched as Han grew flabbergasted, tripping on his words, so he took over replying, "southern hangar!" Before pausing, then adding, "I think!"

There was a frustrated groan coming from her, but she turned to her Droid, anyway, "SH-4, show us the quickest way to the southern hangar!" She practically demanded the bot to do it.

_[Miss, I believe that you shouldn't exert this much energy—]_

"The _hangar, _SH-4!"

_[Could this information truly improve your physical health—?]_

"Kriffin—_yes!" _the Princess glared at the bot, who then proceeded to release a sequence of beep-bops that were too advanced for Luke to decipher it. Princess Leia seemed to get it just fine, though, as she then confidently led them to the left alleyway upon meeting an intersection.

The confidence was short-lived, though; they could see stormtroopers quickly running at their direction from the opposite side of the hallway.

Han shot his stunner to several of them, while Princess Leia cursed in a language Luke wasn't familiar with. "You both—go!" Han turned to Luke, his hand flailing. "Chewie and I will hold them off!"

Luke didn't need to be told twice. "Let's go, Princess!" He said, grabbing her hand and dragged her much like she did to him earlier.

"Just Leia is fine!" She yelled in return, as they made a rapid u-turn for their lives. She then turned to her chirpy Droid, her voice echoing as she said, "SH-4_, another way!" _

The Droid trilled some more as they ran to the right hallway, this one less crowded, and the three of them bolted for their lives, past one turn, then another, then another—only to find a dead end at the end of the alley.

Luke turned to the Droid, disbelief coloring his face. Did the Droid just _tricked _them?

But then the Princess—Leia, her name was _Leia _and she reminded him of the Untamed, the women who led slaves to liberation, Ekkreth's partner from the legends and something so much _more, _something _beyond legends and myths_—then shot the control panel at the corner several times, until the machine was smoky and what once was metal walls opened into another path.

One that had no bridge for them to cross.

"_Kriff!" _Leia turned to the Droid, glaring at him. "SH-4, you said this is the way!" Her frustration was palpable—thick in the air, as if Luke breathed it in. He _felt_ more than heard the notch on her tone, or the cracks in her voice.

Behind them, he could hear rapid footsteps approaching, and felt the frustration getting to him as well—his stomach turning and churning in something akin to _fear._

The Droid trilled about something-something _ropes,_ something-something _ceiling_, and _meeting_ _you in the hangar_ before rolling away to another direction, causing some of the footsteps to break, part of them seemingly taking another route, pursuing him. At his wake, Luke's eyes widened. He looked around and— "Leia!" He tapped her shoulder, making her turn to see the idle rope tied at an anchor on the right side of the hallway, its other side connected to the ceiling. "We gotta _swing!" _

_"There they are!" _Yelled someone from the back, and then there were more footsteps, more muffled yelling, quickly approaching.

Leia blinked, trying to process the whole thing as Luke disentangled the knots, and by the time she opened her mouth to reply, Luke was already grabbing the end of the rope and grabbed her by the waist, mindless of his stinging knuckles as he took a step back, and _jumped._

They landed face-first, but the swing wasn't so bad. "Shit," Luke mumbled, wincing. His head felt light by the hit, and all he really wanted to do was to just take a breather. Still, he managed to scramble the energy to straighten himself up and jab the handles, pressing any button until the door closed.

He narrowly missed several shots during the process, and then—then suddenly the entire battle station was pitch dark.

_Ben, _Luke blinked the dark away, trying to reorient his vision, _he managed to disable the system. _

Next to him, Leia groaned as well, her bandaged hand leaving a trail of palm-shaped bloodstain on the steel floor as she tried to prop herself up. She muttered something about him and winter getting along, which was odd, because deserts didn't have cold seasons.

(she was supposed to _know _that; the way he knew the yellow-flowered meadow she seemed to always venture around in the dreams.)

"Come on," Luke urged, grabbing Leia by her arm, noting how his own hand seemed to be growingly thrumming with pain as he flexed the joints. "we gotta find Han and Chewie, then get the hell out of this place."

Which wasn't that hard, apparently; for Han and Chewie found them _first, _disheveled and breathless from all the running they had apparently done while Luke and Leia were gone. "There's a bunch of them behind us, come _on!" _Han yelled, hauling Luke and Leia to one of the empty alleyways.

"This way!" Leia's voice echoed as she quickly take the lead, the four of them once again playing chase in the massive ship, dodging bullets and shooting some in return. Adrenaline was coursing Luke's system; this was far more intense than those secret pod races he used to sneak into at Mos Espa after Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru had fallen asleep.

Leia led them to another dead end, one where there was no buttons to shoot for a secret door to open, and turned at them with serious eyes. "Trash compactor. Come on." She said, and that was when Luke saw it; one large-sized hole at the bottom of the walls, fitting for at least an adult to enter, leading to Force knows where. "According to SH-4's map, the final disposal compartment is on the same floor as the hangar."

"And we're supposed to go in there?" Han said in disbelief.

"Do you prefer the other alternative, like, uh, I don't know—_dying _in the hands of these troopers?!"

He had only met the smuggler and the princess today, but already he could feel that their chaotic energy would haunt him for the rest of his life. "We're going to the trash compactor," He said, turning at Han with a look that was final.

Seeing that he was outvoted, the smuggler grumbled but take his position anyway, and then—then they were sliding _down. _

The ride seemed to go on forever and in a blink, simultaneously, and then suddenly they were laying down atop mounds of trash, piling against one another, moaning at the rather forceful impact of their fall. Luke heard several "Ow!"s being uttered, and pretty sure he had said some of those on his own. Someone had hit his head with their foot earlier, and his already dizzy head was only spinning even more.

"This suit is weighing me down," Grunted Han as he struggled to get up. "Who the hell designed this bantha poodoo anyway? No wonder those troopers are kriffing useless."

Luke turned at the princess, who mumbled some curses of her own as she tried to sit up, blindly grappling for her blaster. "We gotta get these off." Said Luke, already pulling the buttons and zippers down.

They snuck out of the trash compactor a little more flexible and less weighty than they first came in. The hangar was _filled _with troopers when they managed to reach it, with most of them concentrating on The Millennium Falcon.

Luke's heart dropped. _Artoo and Threepio. _

He tapped his comms, trying do dial them, hoping that both Droids are safe, and was almost floored in relief when he heard Threepio's signature voice greeting him in return. _"Master Luke!" _

"Threepio, where are you?" Luke hushed at the comms, eyes trailing on the movements of the soldiers as they raked the ship. The Droid replied that they were hiding behind the stockpiles at the far-side of the hangar, safe and sound.

_"...and there was this small medical Droid with us trying to find her mistress as well!" _Threepio added, _"perhaps you would know her, he asked; she was short, had a twin buns—" _

So SH-4 had found his way into the hangar, then. "tell him we're with her." Luke replied, before closing the comms. "Stay _safe, _Threepio—and stay _hidden." _

He cut off the comms, turning at Han, Leia and Chewie. "What are the odds of us being able to pass through those troopers?" He asked, worry lacing his tone. They were lucky enough for losing the trail of stormtroopers pursuing them the first time, but these soldiers practically _surrounded _the ship now, and, well—

Luke was _afraid. _

(Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen were gone just mere _hours _ago; murdered at the hands of people like these, with the same uniform and the same desire to break those who oppose the Empire.

Who could say that the same wouldn't happen to them?)

A gentle hand tapped his shoulder, and he looked up. Chewie gazed at him, empathically. "_We've made it this far, kid." _He said, his shyriiwook hushed and toned down, but hold no less meaning, "_We're so close to the finish line—to freedom. Don't give up just yet." _

"Chewie's right, Kid," Said Han, and his voice held no malice nor any other condescending tone; instead he sounded understanding, "Besides, calculating odds are more of the Goldenrod's signature move. Our bunch just kind of—wing it and improvise together." He winked at them—an awkward move, really—but Luke's nerves were soothed at that; at the fact that no matter what happened then, they'd have each other's backs, if only for their mutual survival.

He turned at Leia, who looked at all of them with shiny eyes, watched her as she took his hand. "Let's get the hell out of here." She said, squeezing his hand tight.

Luke gave her a hopeful grin, opening his mouth as he was about to reply, when he felt _it. _

The _swirl _in the air; suffocating and—and dreadful.

He narrowed his eyes, his nerves creeping into his system as he looked around, heart beating quicker and quicker by the second. From his peripheral, he could see Leia, too, had widened her eyes in _fear_—she had sensed it too.

It was almost simultaneous; both their eyes tracing an invisible arrow guiding them where to look—landing them to the far-end of the alleyways corners, where two figures—one armored and another hooded—were standing opposed to one another, lightsaber drawn and ready to fight.

"_Vader," _Leia breathed.

Luke felt air being drained out from his lungs. "_Ben." _

_Something horrible was about to happen._

* * *

He hoped that by the time he reached the Falcon, Luke and the pilots have already gotten Leia with them. The thought of them being discovered by Anakin specifically sent shivers down his spine.

(Vader, he harshly corrected himself, Anakin was as good as gone, and the man occupying that shell of a machine was no longer his padawan—

but was he, really? didn't you feel that slight tilt in the force, that slight shift earlier?

Obi-Wan Kenobi forced himself to drown these thoughts. Jedis did not deal with what-ifs.)

Their safety were what concerned him the most—moreso than his own; after all, he made an oath to protect them, a long time ago. He wasn't planning on breaking them anytime soon.

They would fare better than their parents.

He was so worried for them that he had barely realized _it _by the time he had successfully returned to the hangar, more than ready to get back to the Falcon.

A probing in the force—dark and menacing.

His heart dropped at the pit of his stomach. Even as twisted and distorted as it was, he could still recognize the presence approaching him—could still draw his signature from memory.

Vader.

"Kenobi."

He turned to see him—but nothing could really ever prepare for the sight that greeted him; a figure more machine than a man, clad in an all-black armor, with his saber—a red one, not the blue he used to carry at the hilt, not the blue they made together—extended, ready to attack.

When he said, "I have been waiting for you," his voice was not of a human's; instead it was distorted, stilted—altered beyond recognition. Gone were the drawls of words, the drags of sentences, the desert accent. Gone was the boy who used to joke at him, with him, and in his stead stood the cyborg, the shell of a man.

(A shell he made, Obi-Wan swallowed bile. He did this, left his own boy burning and now—)

"Darth Vader," the name sounded strange, foreign and stale in his tongue. Vader.

Once upon a time, a man with long hair and a thick beard told him, Siths chose the name that would be fitting for their goals—to remind them of what they want to be. Once upon a time, he told the very same thing to a boy with sandy-blonde hair and bright blue eyes, so eager to learn, to please. Once upon a time, the boy turned into a young man, tear-streaked and angry—

(And afraid, so deathly afraid of losing his little family way before he could even have them—)

and in his anger, he had sinned.

("The babies, we must separate them and hide them from their father—")

It seemed that Obi-Wan was not the only one with regrets worn on their sleeves.

So he said, brokenly; "my boy."

Anakin, Vader—which was it, between the two? Obi-Wan didn't know, didn't even want to know, was way too dreaded to find out—raised his saber and snarled at that. In a dash, gone were his timid steps; instead, he was running, storming at Obi-Wan's direction, and slashed.

The former Jedi Master missed the attack by a hair's width, holding his breath the whole time. He slid back, body in defense mode. "I will not attack you," he said, placing his saber in front of his chest. His honesty bled through the force, genuinity lacing his words. It was true; he would not hurt him.

(Couldn't, really—not when it came to him; the blood in his hand were many enough, scarlet enough—)

"Playing the nobleman now?" Hissed Vader, his distorted voice booming, attracting attention, "You are always foolish, Kenobi—this is why you will die."

Sighing, Obi-Wan simply straightened his posture, noting how some of his join cracked and his bones creaked. Anakin or Vader, Sith Lord or Jedi Knight, his boy did always have a flair for the dramatic. "There is no death, there is the force," He replied in return, reciting the old Jedi mantra.

Vader actually growled at that—his vococorder vibrating low and menacing as he raised his blade higher. "Reciting a dead cult's scripture now, are we?" the voice modulator really distorted it, but Obi-Wan still had enough memory of him, of them to figure out that it was spoken in the tone of a sneer.

He shrugged, smiling tiredly. "I made an oath of loyalty to it, once." He said, malice absent from his voice. "I plan to honor it in this lifetime."

Something in Vader's demeanor changed—he stilled, tensing, blade straightened in his grip. "Oaths." He drawled the word, repeating. "Was it the same oath that led you to hide her from me?"

Obi-Wan's lax, coy demeanor changed at that. Did he just say—? "I do not know what you're talking about." He said, but his voice was pitched, slightly shaky, and even if it didn't, he was always a bad liar; his force signature sparking at dishonesty.

Vader picked it right through. "Liar." He said, and now he didn't run, he walked, took time to take his steps, as if he was a predator cornering his prey. "You knew."

Wisely, Obi-Wan kept his mouth shut, blade ready. "I will not fight you," He said, reiterating his words, hoping that it could distract Vader from their current focus, could make him forget, just like he seemingly had about most of his past.

But Vader was shaking at the unspoken revelation, his suit trembling with the force, with the anger that seeped and turned into the dark. "You stole her from me." He said, and Obi-Wan could see how the hand holding the saber had trembled in barely-contained rage.

"Vader—"

Whatever he wanted to say next was cut as he was forced to do a sudden jump, as Vader's saber cut through one of the thick walls of the alleyways. Vader was heaving, his breath dragged and heavy and somewhat forced, as if the air was being throttled down to his chest. Around them, the Force raged like a hurricane.

Obi-Wan expected this—what he didn't expect, though, was the amount of guilt and despair mixing into the cosmic storm swirling around them.

"She isn't anyone's." Obi-Wan finally said, dropping the facade. "She is of her own entity."

"Don't bullshit me, Kenobi!" Vader ran at him and attempted to slash Obi-Wan's left arm, which was—fair, a small part of the old Jedi master mused. He had gotten a way barely in time, wincing as he felt the saber cutting through his sleeves, its laser blade mixing the fabric he wore with his skin. "She was mine and you took her from me!"

Obi-Wan blocked Vader's next attack, his blue blade shaking as it tried to hold back the Sith Lord's blazing red. The friction caused a loud blast, forcing them to retreat from the impact, sliding into opposite sides of the room. "We were doing what's best for her!" Obi-Wan yelled, chest heaving.

(Them; Obi-Wan resisted to not say for them, because Vader—Anakin—had only known one, and he couldn't let him know that there was another—a boy just as bright as his sister, as earnest as his father—)

"And who are you to decide that?!" The Sith Lord almost shrieked at that, hand extending to command and something cracked. Obi-Wan turned a little too late as a pipe sped its way to him, slamming him on the side, throwing him several feet away.

He scrambled to his feet and could already see two other random objects being directed at him, so he slashed the two of them—and sent half a piece back to knock Vader by the chest. "I was the only one left!" He yelled, voice croaky and frustrated and devastated, "we had no other choice, she had no one—"

Vader called out the Force, trying to choke Obi-Wan but the Master blocked the surge of anger before it could reach him—There is no emotion, there is peace— "She had me!" Vader's booming mechanical voice startled Obi-Wan, "She had me, you bastard—"

Another attempt to strike him with a saber, and Obi-Wan leaped to one of the storage drawers, resuming an old position from an older time—

("It's over Anakin! I have the high ground!")

"And what can you do?!" Obi-Wan countered, his emotions all over the place despite his best attempts, as he sent barricades of random objects to prevent Anakin from coming near him.

"I could have raised her, protected her, loved her—"

"You are a Sith Lord!" Obi-Wan yelled, heart feeling like it could burst, "you sold yourself to the Dark, who will say that you won't do the same to her—"

Vader's anger spiked through the roof, palpable and suffocating that for a moment Obi-Wan found it hard to breathe. "How dare you—"

The choking came quicker this time; way before Obi-Wan could predict it. He was suddenly lifted mid-air, gasping for breath.

Around him, the Dark whispered.

Summon me, and you can beat him. Summon me and you can survive. Summon me—

When Obi-Wan spoke, his voice was strained and throaty. "Your daughter—" he said, spluttering and barely audible, "deserves better than a life full of anger and regret."

A life like you went unsaid, but it was clear and loud through their force connection—still unwavering even after years of being unused, Obi-Wan mused—and Vader made a noise, something between surprise and shock, and unwittingly released the older man.

"She won't," this time, the vococorder could barely pick up the voice as Vader spoke, slowly backing away. "She won't, she'll—"

Obi-Wan spluttered, but he forced his creaky legs to stand up once more. Around him, the force swirled, but it was no longer purely dark in there—something else was mixing; the light but not quite, something else—

"I used to say the same things about you as well," he said, his tone still odd as he squared his stance, "and look what happens now."

Vader was rigid, now, and the force was a chaos, a mishmash of emotions that Obi-Wan couldn't quite decipher; sandstorms and blizzard-torn-meadows mixing into one.

Anakin, he tentatively tried to say his name in the Force, Anakin, are you—

"Ben!"

"Kid, what the fuck!"

Both eyes whipped just in time to see a blonde boy with the most concerned eyes—blue, just like his, but warm, just like hers—pausing from his run, trying to get Obi-Wan's attention, trying to get him to leave.

Behind him was the Princess, pristine white dress smeared with blood, blaster at hand, looking at him with wide eyes—brown just like hers, but burning just like his—as she paused as well, looking at him, at them in disbelief.

("Luke and Leia," croaked Padme, looking at the babies with all the love she could muster, "I named him, and he—" a tear slid down her eyes, "he named her.")

Obi-Wan tried to open his mouth, trying to reassure the kids, but then there were footsteps, and screams of "arrest them!" And suddenly there were swarms of stormtroopers, aiming their guns at the quartet of rogues, at the children, and—

He didn't think—he just moved.

He made an oath, once; an oath to protect them.

Summoning the force at will, Obi-Wan tried to prevent the troopers from ever reaching the children, but he was too weak; the force-choke really drained his energy and he could pass out—

Another energy joined—darker, but not quite, and Obi-Wan's bleary eyes were blown awake, wide open in shock.

He was in the dark, obscured by the shadows and not to be seen, but Vader—Anakin?—had extended his hand as well, demanding raw power to aid the force at Obi-Wan's will, to surround the quartet, to shield them—

Before them, the stormtroopers were thrown—all of them; scattered all over the place like spilled candy, hitting the floor and the wall and even the roof. Some still twitched—some eerily still.

Obi-Wan turned at—Vader, Anakin, the Sith Lord, the Jedi Knight, the Dark, the Light, the Chosen One, the Tyrant, who?—and saw the man heaved, dragged and strained as his respirator echoed through the walls.

Did he just—?

But then one of the soldiers groaned, and Obi-Wan tensed. They wouldn't be out for long, and more could come.

"Go!" Obi-Wan ordered, his voice rough as he shoved Luke with the force, pushing him away. "Go away before they catch you!"

He was thankful for pilot duo that he had hired, because they quickly dragged Luke and Leia as fast as they could, into the ship, ignoring the protests coming out of their mouths—

"We can't just leave him—!"

"He'll get killed—"

"He told us to leave, Kid, so we're leaving!"

Obi-Wan watched as the Falcon soon sprung back to life, her engine buzzing and warming up. More stormtroopers were coming, and some of them already hopped to the TIE-planes to pursue them, despite his—their, he realized, because Vader (Anakin?) was still there, in the shadows, giving his all to prevent them from being chased—best efforts.

When they left the hangar in a wild goose chase, Obi-Wan could only watch them with weary eyes. He was so tired, so tired—the wound on his arms throbbed, his lungs hurt, and his throat were dry. He just wanted to close his eyes...

Maybe it was his time to rest.

Around him, the force lulled—the dark tempting him one last time, and the light trying to soothe his pains. He slowly fell to his knees, sliding down the wall as he did so.

There was a hand, on his head, yanking him to look up, but Obi-Wan was tired, and he wanted to rest, had wanted to rest for a long time— "Kenobi, wake up—"

He made an oath to protect them.

"They're the perfect mix of you and Padme," said Obi-Wan, speech slurred and half-conscious, barely audible to any ears. He saw the dark armored figure over him, blinked again and saw a man with sandy-blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Kenobi—Obi-Wan—"

The light, bright and blinding, extended an arm.

Obi-Wan took it.

"Anakin—" he croaked, voice breaking softly, withering away just like how his corporeal form started to fade, from toes and tips of his fingers.

"I could have raised her, protected her, loved her—"

"Stay awake, you Bastard—"

"My boy," Obi-Wan smiled, eyes wandering to those two holes in the mask, trying to gaze at him one last time, send him a message one last time.

_"Sith don't love."_


	5. Lightbringer

_Dead. _

Obi-Wan Kenobi, the blasted Jedi traitor, the manipulator—

_(his Master his mentor his confidante his __**friend—)**_

was _dead. _

Vader breathed heavily through the respirator, the air echoing as it went _in, out, in, out _through his vococorder. Before him was only a pile of dirt-stained robe, one that Kenobi used when he—

When _he—_

Vader _felt_. It had been a long, long time since he had let emotions—_real, _tangible emotions and not just the generic rage and fury Siths needed to harness—consume his thoughts. So now that it came crashing back to him, he was—_overwhelmed. _

He was gripping the fabric tightly, straining the worn thread and involuntarily ripped parts of it off. When he realized it, he threw the clothing to the floor, like it was on fire, like its touch _burned him. _His eyes trailed another way, to the lightsaber laying innocently on the floor, void of its wielder—

_("I hate you!" _

"_You were my brother, Anakin! I loved you!") _

Earlier, one of the rescue crews for Leia had called out for Obi-Wan, had yelled desperately, "_Ben!" _like his death would personally pain him. The boy was young, and Vader couldn't really catch him aside from his desperate call; not when all his focus was directed at his daughter. Now, though, he wondered who that was—wondered if he was Obi-Wan's _someone, _someone who would despair at his death—

_Just like how he was feeling right now—_

Vader shook his head, gritting his teeth. Obi-Wan Kenobi had done nothing but betrayed him; dismissed his concerns, corrupted his wife, drowned him in burning flames, stole his _daughter—_

Then why did he feel something wet coming out of his eyes, streaming down his cheeks? Why, even after all that hurt, all that treason, Vader still found himself weeping, like they were still mentor and padawan?

There was something coming out of his vococorder—something raw and feral; he didn't know what it was; a cheer of triumph? A battlecry? A wail? Whatever it was, Vader didn't _want _to know. Didn't even want to acknowledge that any _feeling _left for him—longing, confusion, sadness—was there.

_(In Tatooine, Slaves were not allowed to grieve; to grieve means to love, and to love means to be freed—to be __**human. **_

_Slaves were not allowed to be human.) _

Instead he stood, heart hammering in his chest, and turned the other way—to where the Princess—_his _Princess, _his—_had managed to run away with the two other men and a wookie.

He thought he saw C-3PO and R2D2 on his peripheral, when he fought Kenobi (Obi-Wan?) earlier, the golden Droid ranting about chances of survival while R2D2 yelled at him to shut up in binaryspeak—

"_Artoo, I am simply giving all the possibilities to Master Luke and Master Han—" _

_[I'm gonna give you all the possibilities of the way I'm gonna take that vocal modulator of yours, how about that?] _

"_Oh, My! Artoo, stop being so crude, we are royalty Droids—" _

_[Talk slower and move faster, Threepio!]_

—just like the old times.

His head was pounding, memories starting to pour into his mind like waterfalls, reclaiming their place in the crevices of his heart. _Force, _help him; he was starting to _remember. _

Vader closed his eyes and forced himself to think of something else—something generic that could recharge his energy and reshape his focus, something he could usually run to when he wanted to rebuild his fury. He thought of Tatooine's endless desert, with all the looters and murderers lurking behind the shadows; of the Jedi Temple, filled with distrustful glares and ignorance; of Mustafar's searing lava, burning his limbs and his skin and himself—

_Of his Princess, climbing down the outer-walls of the Alderaan castle with a silver-haired girl, giggling the whole time before accidentally tripping and falling into the bushes, a wheeze of shock and laughter following through—_

_Of his Princess, learning on how to milk the banthas, getting the liquid all over her place when she held the beast wrong, earning laughter from everyone around her as her pristine-white dress was stained blue—_

He opened his eyes, feeling breathless despite how hard his respirator was working to keep air within his lungs.

"—_perfect mix—you n' Padme," _Kenobi had said in his dying breath, distorted and slurred and barely audible for his corrupted hearing, but he had _heard it; _and his chest—his chest had _ached _for it.

_Leia. _

He gave her that name, she was his desert cub and he should have been the one to judge for her growth himself; should have been the one who saw throughout the years of just how alike she was with him, how alike she was with _her. _And instead he knew all this—all her mischief and laughter and silliness from mere memories; all of which he obtained while he was torturing _her. _

_(In the Order, Jedis were not allowed to grieve; to grieve means to be attached, to be compromised—to be __**human. **_

_Jedis were not allowed to be human.)_

The crackle of emotions coursing through his veins involuntarily summoned the Force—light, dark, he didn't have the energy to figure it out—and it cut through the already severely damaged metal walls and pillars around him, causing some of them to bend slightly, and even one collapse.

_She ran away, _Vader thought to himself, trying to find something, a lighter fact to hold onto; his tinted view couldn't insert hues other than those of scarlet red, but he did see her climbing that ship, practically dragged by the one of the two men and a Wookie who were with her—_saving her?—_and saw that ship flying away the hangar.

_she managed to escape, she won't be executed anymore, she'll be safe._

_**Will she? **_

Vader's mind kept on recalling Kenobi, standing with shaky legs as he yelled, desperately, _"you sold yourself to the Dark, who will say that you won't do the same to her—"_

He thought of her screaming at that cell, tears streaking down her eyes as the Dark _feasted _upon her. Thought of how limp and lifeless she was after the Dark _drained _her. Thought of the fear in her eyes, the thinness in her mind shield, because he had let the Dark _had _her.

_I won't sell her to the Dark, I won't let the Dark touch her again, I __**won't—**_

He could hear groans coming from behind him, a telltale sign that the stormtrooper Kenobi had attacked—

(and him _himself_)

—and stood up, abruptly. "I want these _things—" _He said, hands motioning vaguely to the floor, where Kenobi stood to his death and his belongings remained, "packed up; seal them in vacuum, treat it as you would treat any crucial evidence."

He turned, then, to the stormtroopers that had just sat, holding their heads; had stood but with shaky legs. But they had scrambled at his order, some even crawled, as if doing his bidding was their only way to survive.

_**Is it not? **_

Vader shook his head, storming away to his quarters. His thoughts are frazzled, and he needed to recuperate; to realign; to _think. _

_To grieve._

_(in the empire, Sith were not allowed to grieve; to grieve means to be weak, to be vulnerable—to be __**human. **_

_Sith were not allowed to be human.)_

"Lord Vader?"

Stopped midway by a voice, Vader turned to see one of his subordinates, approaching him with careful steps and hesitation. It seemed like he was trying his best not to anger him—even moreso than their usual efforts, and for a brief second Vader wondered why until images of Tarkin—crumpled down the floor, murdered right in front of all his subordinates—entered his conscience, and realization dawned on him.

"Yes?" He replied, coldly, as he tried to keep his emotions from finding their way into messing his vococorder.

"We just had a report that four of our TIE-Squadrons have managed to chase the ship. They were knocked out, but—" There was a somewhat sour look at the officer's face when he continued. "We managed to place a tracker on them, and the navigation shows that they're on the trajectory towards one of the southern systems. We're pursuing them as we speak."

Something caught up on his throat, and it took him awhile to realize that it was _dread. _"Shut the trackings." He said, rougher than what he had intended to. "I want all navicomputers that keep their tracks be turned _off." _

The officer's face contorted into something akin to confusion, and Vader was fully aware of how crazy he was sounding, how mad all this was to anyone else; the Emperor's ruthless executor, deliberately letting an enemy go? "Sir, we _can't _do that."

Vader tensed, and when he spoke his vococorder was unnaturally, _dangerously _low. "Are you disobeying direct orders, officer?" He said, as the man instinctively took one step further from him, hands raised in a surrendering manner.

"No, Sir! It's not that, it's—" The officer squeaked in fear, "Vice Governor Rancit immediately assumed Governor Tarkin's position after—" The officer winced, but quickly recovered, opting to not say what they both knew had transpired _out loud, _"—and he was instructed of the trackings and immediate attack himself." He paused, then adding, when Vader was still tensely looming over him, "by the _Emperor_, sir_." _

All of Vader's anger—his mishmash of emotions—halted, freezing in something new; _fear. _

"The Emperor?" He was quietly grateful for the mask that permanently covered his face, so this officer before him couldn't see how pale he was, how deep the lines in his forehead were. "Who contacted him?"

_No not Master he can't know he can't he'll destroy her he'll—_

"Vice Governor Rancit himself, Sir," Explained the Officer, his tone wary, "He took the initiative right after he was given the news of, uh, Governor Tarkin's disposal." He said, fiddling with his fingers.

_Rancit—_of course; that slimy, greedy son of a _bitch—_ "And what did he say? About Governor Tarkin?" Vader found his own voice eerily distant, like he was separated from his body, as his nerves climbed up, up, _up _and addling his mind with barely contained _fear. _

_Leia, Leia, Leia, Leia. _

"I'm, uh, I'm not privileged enough to know how the conversation went, sir," The officer shifted from his stance, awkwardly. Then almost curiously, glanced up to finally see the two dark holes in his mask that were Vader's visualizer, "But Governor Tarkin died out of _heart attack, _so I'm assuming that nothing was out of the ordinary."

Vader had worked hard for that; altering all memories of the witnesses on the viewing deck and feeding them false narrative of how Tarkin died; one that wouldn't paint him as the culprit, but wouldn't exactly put the blame to the escaping Princess as well. But there was something in the way this officer spoke; the tone in his voice, the shine in his eyes— "and do you think Tarkin died of a heart attack?"

The officer gulped, but he straightened his posture, as if standing on his ground. "I think that Governor Tarkin's end was fitting." He said, defiantly, purposefully leaving the unspoken hanging in the air.

His answer stunned Vader. He looked at the officer—he was of an average height, an average built, clearly one that was made more for the mundane administrative jobs rather than battlefield brawls, but it had been awhile since someone dared to stare him straight in the eyes intently the way this officer did.

And the fact that he knew—knew, and didn't even tell Rancit the _truth _despite how greatly would he be valued for that—

"Sir?"

Vader blinked, looking at the officer. He didn't let his mind delve deeper more than simple amusement to his blatant brevity, because his focus should be on—

_Leia, and how they're currently tracking her, how they're planning to use the deadliest weapon in the galaxy to pursue and assault her—_

_His Princess, his, taken away from him once more in the blink of an eye—_

_("My boy, Sith don't love.") _

"Dismissed," Vader said, his dread settling anew. He had to _think _fast_; _he realized that he had formed no plans—no tangible, long-term plans—to anything beyond her escape. He murdered the Emperor's favorite governor, struck down half the stormtroopers that tried to capture her, but that was it.

He was used to not thinking; used to just be an extension of his Master's plans, doing his biddings. He wasn't used to scheming the plans and calling the shots.

(that had been another man's job, in another life, a life he both longed and loathed—)

"I just—" Vader looked up from his trail of thought. The officer was still there, looking at him with an odd look, "I just want to let you know that, um, Galen Erso—" He said, gulping, "The engineer of this station, was arrested for allegations of creating a deliberate fault at the station's design."

There was a pause as Vader digested the things that were unspoken, the rusty gears in his head igniting, working, _thinking_.

"Sir?"

"What's your name, Officer?" He asked, finally.

His vision was naturally poor due to the mask, but he could pick up the man's eyes widening at the question. "Uh, Piett, Sir." He said, stammering.

Vader looked at him, _really _looked at him. "Why are you telling me this?" He asked, finally, tone _wondering, _genuinely _so_.

He had forgotten the last time he felt this… innocently curious.

Piett's tone was quieter when he finally answered. "Alderaan—" he stopped, getting caught up in his words. "was my wife's homeworld." He paused, and Vader could _feel _the officer's fraying emotions, swirling around him.

_Family_, Vader realized; it always came to family.

_("My boy, Sith don't love.")_

Vader extended his hands at his direction. Piett flinched, and the Sith Lord knew that he was expecting the worst—until he felt the hand at his shoulder, and opened his eyes in surprise. "Thank you," Vader said—_genuinely. _

The officer looked at the hand at his shoulder in wonder, and nodded hazily. "Always at _your _service, Sir." he said, half-confused, half-relieved.

Something in Vader's chest fluttered. It was long before he could truly realize that it was _hope. _

For now, he settled with the knowledge he got, and hurried away to his chambers. Grief and past memories would have to haunt him later; he had a scheme he needed to study.

_(The universe should have known; there was nothing that Anakin Skywalker wouldn't do when it comes to his family.) _

* * *

"Thought I would find you here."

Luke looked up to see the Princess—_Leia_—surprise coloring his face. To the unfamiliar eyes, she looked as fierce as ever, with even the buns still neatly tucked at her sides—Luke mused at the _strength _of her hairstyle, perhaps almost as strong as _her—_and her white dress smeared with the blood from earlier.

But Luke—he saw beyond the facade, and she looked—_rough _was the best way to describe it, but even then the word still couldn't amount to just how _tired _she seemed to be. Now that the wild goose chase was behind them, all her fiery energy seemed to be dissipating, and Luke could see the dark circles under her eyes, the teartracks on her cheeks, and the general aura of _grief _she seemed to be emitting.

_Grief; _add that to the things they had in common.

"Han told you I'd be here?" Luke asked, scooting over. Leia gracelessly plopped herself to the small slot. Earlier, Han had looked at him _once _before showing him this hiding spot; a rather large, empty compartment in the lower level of the Falcon, one that had a wide window just to see the space.

Leia shook her head, leaning closer to Luke. "No." She said, her voice small and distant. "Just a gut feeling." Silence fell between them, until she spoke again, gentler this time. "Han told me that General Kenobi was your friend." She shifted, and Luke glanced at her to see guilt flashing in her eyes. "I'm sorry."

To untrained ears, it seemed like a generic condolences. And perhaps Luke could say that he himself was part of the untrained bunch himself, having only met her here, today. Yet somehow, Luke could hear the words she didn't say; _for asking his help. For bringing him here. For sacrificing his life to save mine. _

She wasn't being sympathetic; she was _apologizing. _

Sighing, Luke shook his head. "Not your fault." He said, firmly, taking her hand in his—and squeezed. It was awkward, considering how they both had injuries on their right hands; he had to bend slightly, and she wiggled to give room—but Luke drew comfort from her presence, from her thumb tracing the back of his hand. "Not your fault." Then, after a pause, he himself added, "I'm sorry, too." and had _meant it. _

He could feel Leia's gaze at him, and for a second he thought she was going to say something wise, something noble and royal the way she was, but then she just—exhaled and dejectedly said, "Losing people _sucks." _She blew an air out from her mouth, as if trying to let go of some tension.

The way she spoke, it was almost heartbreaking; her voice trembled, and her lower lip wobbled, and it was clear that all she wanted to do was to just break down and crumble, but she held herself and Luke's heart _ached _for that.

"You can cry," Said Luke, softly. "If you want."

Leia shook her head, frowning now—he could see the lines on her forehead, the circles under her eyes. "I don't know how." She said, genuinely. "In Alderaan, royalties were not supposed to fall apart, even at the worst times."

And wasn't that _heartbreaking_, a girl of his age, taught to hold back and conceal so often she forgot how to let _go. _"In Tatooine, slaves were told to do the same." Luke mused to himself. He was born free, but he was _poor; _and the poor in Tatooine were often interchangeable with the shackled, forced to work day and night like a hunting wolf even at their lowest just so they could be valued for another day.

Leia turned, raising an eyebrow. But even her skepticism were weak, shielded by so many more things. "Are you saying that I am trained like a slave?" She said, and there was an edge in her tone; half-scoffing, half-_curiosity. _

Shrugging his shoulders, Luke answered, "I'm just saying that it's okay to cry." He spoke, instead. "There is no one here; no eyes watching, no mouths judging. Just us."

_Whoever told you that grief were not for display, they are wrong. _

Leia shuddered, and Luke tightened his grip on her. He lost his home, today; lost the aunt and uncle who raised him, the town cook that used to babysit him and linked him with his father. But Leia—Leia lost an _entire planet; _shattered and destroyed to nonexistence, leaving nothing but a void space and a name.

If anyone deserved to mourn, it would be _her. _

_**Please don't compare griefs. They're all heavy in their own right. **_

He turned at her, and she turned at him as well, and their sadness dissipated—slightly, giving room to something else. _Did you—? _"Your hand." Said Luke, finally, looking at her injured knuckle. "What happened to it?"

Leia bristled, trying to dismiss it as nothing more than a light injury, but he expression darkened. "Kind of hit something too hard, repetitively." She said, looking at the bandages. Her incessant medi-droid had redid the stitches and re-bandaged her wounds earlier. "What about you?" She asked, tilting her head to Luke's side, pointing the obvious bandage on his right knuckle as well. "What happened to that?"

Raising his hand, Luke half-shrugged. "They just… Came out." He said, "yesterday night, and then again earlier today. Like an imprint of someone else's injury." He turned at her, could see the surprise coloring her face.

_**Do you think—?**_

_I don't know what to think._

He kept thinking about his dreams, about the girl in the meadow, and the woman with the sad eyes.

"Earlier, at the station," He began, and he could feel her hand squeezing him tighter. "When we first met—"

"It felt like—" Leia interjected, and somehow it didn't feel like she was cutting his words—instead it felt like she was continuing his lead. "It felt like I've always known you."

Luke thought of meadows and brunette-haired girl, laughing with the corner of her eyes crinkling, and nodded. "Me too." He said, looking at the sky. "It feels like we—watched each other grow up."

She nodded. "You live in the deserts." She said, matter-of-factly.

He hummed. "And you live in a castle."

"You sneak out at night, sometimes to tinker, but I saw you joining that illegal podrace once—"

"Same as you—though I don't make it a habit to fall from where I'm climbing—"

"Ok, now that's low—and coming from you; who got your hair stuck in a droid fan when you were fixing them and got half-bald—"

"Better than getting sprayed by blue milk straight from the nipple—ow!"

Leia stabbed his palm playfully with her nails, and Luke mock-groaned, swatting her back immediately. They laughed, then, part-surprise and part-delight, and part something else entirely, until the laughter died down and they looked at each other intently.

"We dream about each other a lot, huh." Leia mused.

Humming, Luke's smile turned somber. "If Ben is here—" his breath hitched slightly, but he pushed through. "He'll probably say that our dreams are the wills of the Force."

There was a swirling around them, light breeze that toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck and the ends of her hem. It was as if something _agreed._

"Have you ever felt like this before?" Asked Leia, tentatively. "With anyone else?"

Luke shook his head, looking at her wide, brown eyes. "Just you."

Shuddering, Leia closed her eyes. "What—are we?" She wondered, out loud. Luke wondered, as well; wondered how easy it was to slip his hand to hers, how easy it was to just lean onto each other, how their heart beats in tandem, always syncing, like finally finding his other half.

Earlier, he thought it was something that aunt Beru would often talk about; _love._ He thought about soulmate and it was _fitting _to describe the way he felt to Leia, but when his head tried to fit the pieces to what one would categorize as romance, he instinctively felt nauseous.

So what were they?

"You know, I have—_had." _Leia halted herself, and Luke could feel the sudden grief crashing down to her, at the sudden realization at the implications of her words. She cleared her throat. "A little sister. And." She paused, looking at him. "It kind of… feel that way. With you." She sighed, heavier this time.

Luke's interest piqued. "Like… siblings?" He asked, almost hopefully.

"...Like siblings." Leia agreed, hand squeezing his. A pause, then, "are _we?"_

_Were they? _

He kept thinking of R2D2, who had gone eerily quiet after the news of Ben's death. Thought about his incessant beeps before, the insistence and the stubbornness as he argued with the old man.

_[My oath is to protect the variants!] _

"I was raised by an aunt and an uncle." His voice was dry, thinking of Aunt Beru and her sad face when he asked about his mother; of uncle Owen and his aggression whenever he brought up about his dad. _Was, _he said, because there were no more Beru and Owen Lars; just a burning pyre of what once was their home, engulfing, erasing _everything _that was Luke's remnants of _family— _"They don't talk much. All I had was the name of my father."

Leia sighed, averting her gaze to the deep space. "I was taken as a war orphan." Something faraway was reflected on her gaze, as if she was thinking. "All I remembered was the face of my birth mother." She said, sadly. "Nothing else."

_They never—_

—_**Told me.**_

"We can," Leia began, hesitantly. "We can ask SH-4. To—you know; check." She said, shifting slightly at his side.

"Just because of a feeling?"

Leia's eyes were glassy and sad when she answered. "Sometimes a feeling is all that we have."

And of course, it dawned on Luke, then; here they sat, two people who had nothing else left in this universe, no home, no planet, no _family_. To have that _hope, _even just for a bit—

He gulped, mind already thinking of the _what-ifs. _

"Alright," he conceded, fondly recalling the incessant medical Droid, one Leia claimed to have taken under her wing due to faulty instructions from Darth Vader. The Droid seemed to be devoted enough to any of Leia's bidding so long as she said it would _'improve her health', _so, "Maybe later." He replied. "For now, let's just… sit here."

_Grieve, _he thought, _mourn the lost loved ones; Don't deny the pain—it's what makes us human._

_**...alright. **_

Both of them sighed, leaning into each other, and closed their eyes. "Whatever we are," he said, after a while. "Just know that I'm glad it's you."

Because he _was; _for here she sat next to him, her resilience and bravery shining through even at the darkest times. Here she was with all the good and kindness she could muster, one big enough to make her risk herself to protect the Galaxy. Here she was, with her silliness, and her wit, and her brevity even at times where others would simply give up.

This was the person he'd have the privilege to know, and he was _glad. _

Leia was shuddering, and Luke could see the hitch in her throat, the thin thread holding her composure together. "Me too." She said, softly. "I'm glad it's you."

He didn't really know what she saw in him that made her say that, but he sensed no lie, so he took the affection and tucked it into his heart, pulling her impossibly closer to him. And what an odd-sight, the Princess and the Mechanic, both staring at the nebulous sky before them, huddled close to one another like a puzzle fitting just _right._


	6. The Sunshine

In all honesty, Leia never remembered a time when there was no Winter in her life. Sure, logically, that time had existed, but the memories were lost on her, nothing more than a mentionable fact.

Beyond being a senator, being a princess, being a public figure, Leia's life had always been defined by the fact that she was the big sister, the first daughter.

_"Her name is Winter," papa had said, as Leia stood on her tiptoes, peering over the little girl burying her face on Papa's neck. Leia watched as Papa untangled the little girl from his embrace—only halfway, so the two girls could see eye-to-eye. "She's gonna be your sister from now on."_

_Winter's eyes were bright blue, but she was fearful, Leia noticed. "What happened to her?" She asked, almost whispered. Winter was perhaps only barely two to Leia's five, but she looked far sadder than Leia had ever seen any other children her age. _

_Papa's smile sobered, and he caressed Winter's head soothingly. "Her parents—" he halted himself, before turning his attention to Leia, "all that matters is that she's here now, my Sweetheart." He said, softly. "And you will protect her, right? As her big sister?"_

_Leia looked at Winter, small and quiet with chubby wet cheeks, and steeled her resolve._

_**Yes.**_

_"Hey Winter," she said, reaching out to her tentatively, stroking her cheek. "I promise you, you'll be safe here—with me."_

"Leia?"

So she was glad—more than glad; relieved, grateful, _overjoyed—_when she walked onto the hallways of the resistance base at Yavin-4 and discovered that she didn't have to unlearn the title.

"Winter?" Leia asked, half-hopeful, half-in-disbelief, when she caught the flash of icy white hair flaying, running at her direction with lightspeed. The next second she was tackled, hugged so tightly she nearly fell from the landing bridge because of the sudden imbalance.

Luke yelped something about her injuries, and Han grumbled because he was nearly knocked out in her tumble down with her sister, but she didn't care. She couldn't find it in herself to care if she fell and hurt herself, because her baby sister was _in her arms._

Her baby sister was alive, in flesh, within her embrace.

"Leia," the Princess could feel Winter's whimpers over her shoulder, muffled and emotional. _"Leia."_ She hiccuped, "when I saw only Threepio and Artoo, I—I thought you _died." _

And wasn't that heartbreaking; her usually strong little sister melting in her arms. "I'm here, Winnie." She said, hugging her impossibly tighter. "I'm _here."_

_I thought you died, too. _

Winter took a deep breath before slowly releasing her, only far enough to look at her intently. She had red-rimmed eyes and a runny nose, and the hairdo at the top of her head was slightly frazzled, the shorter hairs sticking up from the tightly arranged Alderaanian hairdo. Leia's eyes instinctively traced down Winter's exposed arm, where a large gash was prominently tended to. "Where were you when—?" Asked Leia, warily. _How did you survive, _dangling from her tongue, unspoken yet clear.

Her little sister took a deep breath, and Leia could see the bruises on her collarbones, on her chin, the slight swelling on her right cheekbone… "right after you departed for the mission, Papa—" she halted herself, nearly choking at the mention of their father. "Papa, he—sent me with Captain Rex and Fulcrum to retrieve… somethings... from Kamino." She shuddered. "I was there when it—when they—"

_Shattered; ruined; broken; destroyed._

_Because of her because of her because of her—_

Gulping her own bile, Leia simply caresses Winter's cheeks with tender touches. "You have so many scars, Winnie," she said, absent-mindedly. "There's a bruise here, and look at your collarbones, so many gashes—"

Leia was so focused on cataloguing Winter's injuries, her sister's words startled her. "You have a split lip. And a wounded knuckle." Winter said, frowning. "Your new med Droid—SH-4?—said you were involved in a brawl."

Snorting shakily, Leia shrugged; not really minding the sting, "SH-4 needs to let loose a little more." She said, feigning nonchalance. In the mentions of Droids, though. "How are Artoo's decoding? Find anything good?"

Winter nodded, almost hopefully. "Ackbar is optimistic."

"So my brawl is a little useful after all," Leia said, grinning hopefully.

Her sister snorted, but even she looked mirthful, "you pick way too many battles, Lei-Lei," she shook her head, "half the time I'm surprised you can still keep those intricate buns of yours up, with the way you're running."

Sheepishly, Leia tucked a stray of locks behind Winter's ear. "Well, you know—" she said, tilting her head slightly to Winter's hair, knowing exactly who they owed the stately designs and strengths of their hairdo to. "the power of Mama's knots." She said, briskly.

Too late did the word's implications dawned on her, as even her eyes then widened and her grin disappeared in the blink of an eye. Something was changing in Winter's face, her small smile dissipating, and then her eyes started to well up again.

"Lei-Lei," she whispered, "_mama." _

How just one word could shatter Leia the way Winter's broken mention of their mother had, Leia could never know. But hearing it made Leia's stomach churn and her throat dry, and suddenly Leia was all-too-aware of the fact that she and Winter were the only two _left _of their family, even perhaps of their _planet—_

_Because of her because of her because of her—_

"I'm sor—ry." Leia choked, voice cracked with guilt, "Winnie I tried, I _tried, _I reasoned with Tarkin, told him what I knew, but he—_" _and now she was pleading, begging for anyone to _understand_.

_("In Alderaan, royalties were not supposed to fall apart, even at the worst times,"_ she had said to Luke before, but there was no Alderaan anymore, and there were no royalties left to be looked up to, only her and Winter, a pair of parentless siblings and no one else because her planet was destroyed, shattered, _erased—_and now with her sister in her arms Leia suddenly felt very weak and tired and _small, _and she knew she shouldn't feel small she shouldn't feel weak she was the Princess the rebel cell the _first daughter _but her _**people**_—_)_

Then her knees buckled, much like they did before when Tarkin had gleefully announced his planned destruction for Alderaan. The only thing preventing her from falling was several pairs of hands, holding her arms and her shoulders, and she looked up to see Luke and Han, on her right and left, looking at with deep concern.

Her chest, it was—it was _painful; _filled with too many feelings, pouring at once. Before, Leia had locked the grief away from her conscience, tucked it tight in a box and buried it deep because she told herself she didn't have the luxury to mourn. But now—_now, _that they have landed in this godforsaken moon, with her friends and her adoptive-sister and her could-be brother next to her—

Leia had let herself _remember. _

Winter was in front of her, as Leia lowered herself to the ground less gracelessly this time, knees hitting the dirt floor. It took some time for her to speak, and words were seemingly lost on her for several minutes as she processed what Leia said and what went unsaid.

Leia choked on her sobs, her body shook and trembled. By the time Winter found the strength in her to say something, Leia was too far gone into her grief to notice, much less comprehend. Now that the floodgate had opened; all she could recall was _screams—_of anguish and fear and desolation, all so loud one second and then eerily quiet next. All she could see were the yellow flames bursting and engulfing her planet, in a such twistedly beautiful way, like a firework that _destroyed_.

When she looked at her injured knuckle she didn't see her own blood; she saw the spills of her people. When she opened her eyes she didn't see the base's hallways, she saw the lush greeneries of Alderaan catching fire, as people ran, clambering at her while the ground chipped and sank and _disappeared—_

_"Help us Princess—"_

_"Don't leave us here—"_

_"Why didn't you stop him your highness—"_

_"My Lady this is because of you, because of you, because of __**you—"**_

A probing in her mind, kind and soft, as if hesitantly asking for permission. Leia was too tired to reject it, and then—then it felt like she was _soothed, comforted, caressed—_

_**It's not your fault, Leia; don't shoulder the burdens that aren't yours—**_

"Hey." Someone lightly pulled her chin aside, making her see to her right, and Han was right there. He was frowning as he normally was, in the short time she had known him, but his brown eyes were softer, kinder, "you ain't the one pulling the trigger, Princess," he said, solemnly, convincingly, and Leia couldn't help but to feel _cared for_. "Survivor's guilt sucks, I know, but you don't gotta apologize for something that ain't your fault."

Leia took a deep breath, then released. _In, out, in, out. _Her chest hurt, and she felt like she might be in the beginning of hyperventilation, but she forced her body to comply, to breathe, to _stay put_.

(Stop thinking about Alderaan _but the screams the_ _flames the destruction_ you're gonna lose yourself _like my people like mama like papa? _Stop it stop it stop it _I can't they're dead because of me I can't—)_

"..._eia!_"

Leia, face puffy and tear-streaked, looked up to the voice that called her, to see a woman with tanned skin and blue eyes blown wide at the sight of her wavering before the bustling hallway, half-winded because of the sprint she had from Force-knows-where. She had never seen the woman look this distraught and awry before.

Feeling like she might cry even more at the sight of her, Leia simply whispered, _"Fulcrum."_

Then, beside her, a choked, startled voice saying, "_'Soka." _

The togruta froze, eyes wildly switching between looking at Leia and then right next to her left—_Luke?_ _How did he know of— _"What are you _doing_ here?" When she asked it was almost harsh, "I thought O—_Ben _was supposed to keep you in Tatooine!"

And then the soothing prickle in her head suddenly wavered, and Luke, who was so strong for her, so _strong—_spoke with thick tremble on his pitch. "Ahsoka," he said, and the name isn't exactly familiar to Leia, but Fulcrum tilted her head slightly, listening, "Ben's _dead." _Taking a deep breath, he said again, then, _"everyone _is."

Leia watched Fulcrum's face fell, her blue eyes growing glassy. She opened her mouth, then closed it, then she slowly, slowly she lowered herself down, taking Luke to her embrace, then Leia, then Winter, then suddenly all of them are huddled together closely. Leia could even feel Han smushed next to her, grumbling something but tightening his grip around her and Luke anyway. They stayed like that until it got too uncomfortable, and Leia slowly broke apart from the massive group hug.

She found out that everybody else was staring, and that she didn't care.

"I couldn't be there to protect you." said Fulcrum—Ahsoka?—as she gazed to Winter, then Leia, then Luke. She was sad; eyes filled with sombre and regret. "All of you."

The phrase _I'm_ _sorry _hung atop them, loud and blaring even if it went unsaid.

"You're here now." Mumbled Leia, and she could hear Luke mumbling along something similar. Fulcrum's reply was to only hug them tighter.

There were so many questions she wanted to ask; how did Fulcrum know Luke, why did he know her under a different name, were there any other Alderaanian survivors, what was Winter doing in _Kamino, _for Force's sake—but all that could wait, all that could hold until later, because now Leia needed _this_.

Which was probably why, the second she admitted _that, _even at the privacy of her own minds—the Universe decided to fuck it up.

There were echoes from the back, and then there was Chewie, running at them and panting hard, going at Han first, yelling frantically. Leia's Shyriiwook was rudimentary at best, and she could only hear _'trails', 'shot' _and _'blasted imperials.'_

But then she saw Luke paling, and Han's face growing grim as he swallowed, throat bobbing. "Chewie thinks—" he said, and when he spoke his voice was dry, "there _might _be a problem."

* * *

"Might." Luke said, in disbelief. "You said _might." _

Han sighed, rubbing his forehead. Beside him there was Chewie, looking just as stressed, and the Princesses—_Leia_ and her sister, whose tear-streaked faces mismatched their steely glares. Leia especially was so stoic and firm, like she'd just deleted all that remnants of outburst she just had like, a few minutes ago. Now, she looked—regal. Hardened. Ready to _fight_.

Silently, Han admired that control from her.

_Alderaan is a matriarch, _he remembered someone from his smuggling days saying—was it Maz? He forgot. God, he _missed _Maz—_That is why Alderaanian raise their daughters strong. _

"The Imperials sticking a tracking beacon to your ship is _not_ might!" Luke was yelling now, words rushed together, stacked and messy and coming out in only one breath. "It's kriffing crazy and on Force how could we let this happen we led them—"

"You think I wanted this to _happen?!_" Han said impatiently, hands thrown up as he cut Luke's rant. "That's _my _ship they're _tracking! _My baby they could possibly destroy!"

It wasn't _fair. _He just _got _her less than two days ago.

"_And _the resistance _base!" _Luke yelled in return, which—_wow. _Didn't know that the desert kid have the guts to do _that._ But props to him. "But maybe you don't _care, _just like you didn't back then when Old Ben—"

Oh, now that was _low. _Very low. He only did what he was told and this kid dared to accuse him? "Watch your mouth, Kid—" and then he halted himself, unwilling to go further.

The Kid was hurting. The words coming out of his mouth were probably calloused and sharp for a reason.

_My my, my little Scoundrel, _he could almost hear Garriss Shrike's voice at the back of his head, _did scrawny Han Solo finally develop some empathy?_

Luke was about to open his mouth again, but then there was a call for Leia's name, and then her sister's—the four of them turned to see a twi'lek woman, looking grim, urging the princesses to come into the chamber she was peering from.

Leia's gaze lingered to Han and Luke, then, wary and tired. "I'll be right back." She said, "you two now behave—"

"Oh, and Mr. Solo?" The twi'lek's voice cut Leia's, and Han was honestly surprised that he was being called. "You can come in too, I guess. Collect your payment and all."

"Wait, he got called in as well?!" Luke protested, almost whining as he pointed to Han. "That's not fair!"

"Kid, I'm just getting my money's worth." Han said, impatiently, because _hell yes, _what else would he do inside besides cashing his service and walking out? Interject himself into a military meeting?

There was a reason he left the pilot academy.

"Luke—" Leia pressed her lips. "Just—wait outside, yeah? _Please?" _She pleaded, softly, her gaze at the blonde boy softening.

Luke's persistence slightly ebbed away. "I want to—" he stopped, lowering his head dejectedly. "I want to _help_."

"You will. You _have."_ Leia said, grasping Luke's upper arm with her good hand, and suddenly Han felt like an outsider, and something weird brewed in his chest, almost like… _jealousy _was too big of a word, but he definitely didn't like not being included. "But for now you'll help best if you _wait, _alright?"

Luke nodded, defeatedly, and Han watched as the Princess reached out to the Kid, hugging him tight.

Han looked away. The Kid and the Princess had been weirdly close since their strange encounter at that blasted Imps station. Han shouldn't feel anything by that, they had only known each other for less than two days, and he was only here for the desperately-needed cash, after all.

_(Still.)_

When they released, Leia straightened herself and then grasped her sister's hand—_Winter?—_and turned to Han. "Come on, flyboy."

There were no sharp tones in her voice, no witty comeback, only slight weariness carefully hidden in an emotionless request. It itched Han, how void her voice was. But he followed her in, almost like a disgruntled but obedient puppy.

Inside, Admiral Ackbar and Chancellor Mothma were standing on opposite sides of the table, midway to shouting. Han knew them only by name; leaders of resistance, symbol of hope, blah-blah-blah. There were others too, in their left and right—he knew some, like the togruta that group-hugged Leia and Luke, and the former senator Dodonna from the history books he used to sneak into, but Han didn't know the rest of the people.

Force's sake, he didn't care. He only came here to deliver a bunch of crazy young adults and collect his money to repay his debt to Jabba—

"...seen the size of that thing, Ackbar?!"

"Mothma, half an hour ago you had been _optimistic."_

"That was before this discovery, before—! Bey, back me up on this one."

None of the people in the center seemed to pay attention of Han, Leia, and Winter's entrance.

_"Ahem." _

All heads turned to Leia, who stole an attention with just her voice. "I take it the meeting has started?"

"Princesses!" Mon Mothma almost exclaimed, her eyes darting to the two Alderaanian royalties before trailing off to him. "...and Mr. Solo." She said, less welcoming.

Han shrugged. Knowing he wasn't welcomed. "Just here to grab the payment, Ma'am." He said, genuinely. "Don't mind me."

Mothma nodded, waving her hand away to the direction of the Twi'lek that first called him. "You can talk with Miss Syndulla, there, Mr. Solo." She said, not unkindly.

Han nodded, turning at the twi'lek—Miss Syndulla—and tried to tune out the debate behind him as they continued.

"Dodonna agrees with me, Ackbar; we have better chances evacuating the people rather than trying to fight that—_thing—"_

_One hundred credits, one hundred fifty—_

"Then they will only pursue us, then! We have been running our whole lives, if we run again we are dishonoring the legacies of those lost before us; Bail, Padmé—"

_Three seventy five, four twenty—_

"Legacy? The only legacy we're fighting if we pursue this—this _genocidal_ machine would be _tomfoolery!"_

_Five forty, five sixty—_

Leia cleared her throat, cutting all of them. "If we can all please _focus." _She said, viciously, "because we aren't being called here only to _squabble."_

Han paused from his counting, turning his head slightly to watch her. and there she was, being her impeccable regal self again, commanding orders to everyone she had just faced like she rightfully owned the room and their attention. "For all of our calculations, the so-called Death Star—" Leia had said in disgust, "had about a day and a half before it finally caught up to us, which is an advantage—"

"A slight one—" Senator Dodonna interjected, but snapped her mouth shut when Leia glared at her.

"An _advantage,"_ Leia repeated, gritting her teeth. "That we are going to take." Then she turned, to Admiral Ackbar, "where are we on figuring out the engineering flaws?"

Admiral Ackbar sighed and called out the schematics to display, swiping until he found the right blueprint. "The error in design is in this two-meter thermal exhaust post on the southern side of the ship." He said, pointing to the aforementioned parts. "They are destructible from the outside; we need to hit it with a shaft, and the destruction will lead directly to the core reactor system. But it's a _suicide mission."_

Han saw Leia bit her already tattered lip. "How so?" She asked, eyes focusing on the schematics.

It was the togruta—Fulcrum? Ahsoka? Luke and Leia called her different names, so Han wasn't sure which one was it—who answered. "We have to hit it correctly." Her brows furrowed as she pointed to the sides of the exhaust post. "Look around it; they're nearly indistinguishable from one another; the only way to do it is to send someone inside with a radar so we can have an accurate approximation—"

Mon Mothma growled, whipping her head at her direction. "I told you, Agent, we are not sacrificing our _men." _

Ackbar interjected, hotly, "this is perhaps the only chance we have to land a blow to the Empire."

And damn it, wasn't the Admiral right. The designer had hidden it perhaps way too greatly, it would be difficult to differentiate it with other blocks—especially considering the X-ray-resistant steel the Empire was using to build the ship. Their only guide would only be the blueprint, and they could only approximate the real-life location directly at the attack.

"Mr. Solo," he faintly could hear Syndulla calling him. "All your credits have been transferred." But she sounded distant, because he was thinking, _thinking—_

An idea struck Han. "Not if you send your men in leagues." He piped up, almost automatically, reminiscing his education at the Imperial trainings. "You send a bunch of X-Wings close enough to that part of the ship, then let them shoot around the general area of the target—one or two will bound to hit the port." He said.

"So you're basing this on a chance—" Dodonna started to protest, but Han raised his hands. The grinds in his brain was working, turning, _thinking._

"This is not a _chance."_ He said, absent-mindedly, because suddenly he was back at the imperial pilot school, leading his way in the attack strategy class. "at best, one is bound to hit the mark, but at the very least, it could trigger a chain reaction—one side of the fire catching up with another, destroying the support around the target." he pointed around the area where the faulty post was stacked neatly against one another, "it'll be a massive attack before the destruction even reach the core reactor, and isn't that what you want? Maximum damage?"

_The key is volume,_ Shrike had told him when he was ten and a scavenger, when the man had taught him how to steal in groups.

Everybody turned, then looking at him like he was part-mad. Han squirmed from his stance, not used to being the center of attention. "It's a waste of resources." Said, Mon Mothma, tone edging to a protest. "We're already thinning out of arsenal_, _using the majority of it only for this strike—"

"But it isn't just _any _strike," Han argued. "It's a strike against a weapon called, and I quote, 'the death star.' This shit can blow off _planets." _He emphasized on the last part. _"_It's better to exhaust your weapons trying to strike it and having a bigger chance of succeeding than only releasing a select few and hinging on the hope that it would hit the very small, very obscure target."

He could feel every eyes turning onto him, making him uncomfortable. But then Leia's sister—_Winter_?—spoke, surprising everyone. "He's right, you know." She said, her body leaning to the table, looking at the older politicians defiantly. "If we want our attack to succeed, we better give it our all."

Han turned to Leia, then, half-hopeful that she would say something. "This could be the battle that makes our life and death." She finally spoke quietly. "And not just _ours; _if we do not succeed, then other planets would be—" she halted, stopping herself. Her hand reached her sister's then, almost blindly, grasping the kid's hand tightly her good knuckle turned white.

"I will not," Leia spoke again, her voice shaky yet firm, "let another planet suffer the same fate as my homeworld." When she spoke, Han noticed that her eyes were glassier, and there were beads of tears at the brink of her lids, and yet she stood there stoically unwavering, almost like she _had _to.

_Alderaanian raise their daughters strong._

Something broke in Han's chest. _And what was the cost of their strength? _

"Chancellor Mothma," said Winter, softly. "_Please." _

Mothma looked around, rather helplessly, at all the other eyes centering around her. She was clearly outnumbered—even the aforementioned Dodonna person was turning sides, now, inching closer with Ackbar.

"...fine." Mothma finally sighed. "Tell the commanders that the operation is authorized, and they need to be here immediately, and tell—" she took a deep breath, "tell all X-wing pilots to ready their planes." She turned to Han, then, narrowing her eyes. "This plan _better _work," she said, like she would hold Han personally accountable if it didn't.

Han squirmed under her gaze, suddenly all too aware of the very thing he just proposed to. There was a very large possibility of the resistance losing large number of men today, and he—his stomach suddenly churned at the thought that he had suggested the plan that could _cause _that.

He could almost hear Shrike cackling. _Since when is Scrappy Han Solo thinking about other's well-being? _

"It _will." _A voice startled him, and he looked up to see Leia, inserting herself between Han and Mothma. She was a good head shorter than him, but Han had never seen someone stood so _tall. _"Don't have too little faith to your men, Chancellor Mothma." She said, diplomatically, her head tilted high.

_Alderaanian raise their daughters strong._

There were tiny flutters in his guts, something that he tried best to ignore, when Mothma conceded and Leia turned, looking at him gratefully.

(It had been a while since someone stood up for him.)

"Thank you." She said, softly.

Han shrugged, lamely, trying to maintain all the suave and bravado he could muster. "Glad to help." He said, looking on her but not really, because he couldn't afford to lose his gaze into her genuine brown eyes.

Instead, he looked at the watch behind her, trying to refocus his purpose here; get the credits, take the Falcon, and go straight to Jabba. get the credits, take the Falcon, and go straight to Jabba. get the credits, take the Falcon, and go straight to—

_He shouldn't feel any hesitation for leaving. Shouldn't be so torn about not looking back. Shouldn't get too attached with the earnest sandboy and the bossy Princess and their really fussy droids—_

_(And yet he did.)_

Something in Leia's eyes changed. "You're leaving." She said, matter-of-factly.

Han gave her a small nod, not having the courage to answer verbally.

Leia's smile faltered for a split second before returning back with less genuinity and familiarity. "That's—alright." She said, looking up to him with less-bright eyes. "We thank you anyway." She paused, then added, "_I _thank you."

Fingering the credit disk on his hand, Han once again nodded, blurting "I know," in reflex. His eyes widened at that, because, well, it was pretty rude—to claim that he was so entitled of someone's gratitude he had already expected it, and even scoundrel, smuggler Han Solo had manners instilled in him from another time, with his kind eyed mother as his main disciplinary committee—

But Leia tilted her head slightly, and actually smiled at that, more genuinely this time. "I have to stay here." She said, after a second that seemed like forever. "make sure you say goodbye to Luke, and give my regards to Chewie."

Han's mouth tilted upwards, but he didn't really feel like smiling. "I will," he said, with less swagger than he usually mustered. He turned his body away from her, walking to the door before he could change his mind, because he really did need to do this.

_get the credits, take the Falcon, and go straight to Jabba. get the credits, take the Falcon, and go straight to Jabba—_

"Hey Nerfherder?"

Han froze, turning his head slightly to see Leia from his peripheral. Leia's smile was smaller, this time, her eyes slightly more wistful and haunted. "Stay safe, yeah?" She said, and to some others it would perhaps sound like a regular departure message, but—

She looked at him like she was deathly afraid that she might have to bury another person today, and the knots in Han's chest tightened.

"I will." He said, and made a vow to himself to follow through. He would be safe, if only to spare her the grief of losing another acquaintance.

The princess had too many ghosts in her gaze already. So he would stay safe—for her.

* * *

Luke was standing glumly outside the chamber where Leia and Han was convening when R2D2 found him—the Bot trilling loudly from across the hallway. He could recognize the binary code spelling his name, repeated over and over and over again rather excitedly, as the Droid rolled head-on to his side, nearly toppling him over.

"Oof, Artoo." He grunted, hands instinctively grabbing the Droid's dome head for purchase. "Calm down, there, buddy—"

_[Luke, Luke, Luke!] _Beeped Artoo, excitedly. That was all Luke could pick, honestly; his own name. Artoo was speaking way too fast for his untrained ears to catch, let alone decipher.

Still, he fondly appreciated the unbridled energy the bot seemingly reserved for him.

"Hey Artoo, maybe turn the speed down a notch, okay?" Luke said, softly, lowering his face to level with the bot. "I'm still new to this complex binaryspeak thing, so… bear with me." He added the last part sheepishly.

Artoo beeped once-twice-thrice, before one of his exterior opened, pulling out a screen that was on standby. He beeped some more, and the screen wrote, _[now you can understand me!] _

A foldable, portable navicomputer, Luke realized. He blinked, once-twice-thrice. "You've had that the whole time and you didn't tell me?"

_[No,] _Artoo trilled indignantly. That one word, Luke didn't need a screen to figure out. _[Fulcrum installed it to me! I asked her to!]_

Narrowing his eyes, Luke wondered; _who—? _And then he remembered, of Leia and her breakdown at the hallway, and the group hugs, and a certain togruta who looked at them with wide blue eyes. "Ahsoka?" He asked, making sure.

Artoo trilled immediately, his excitement replaced into that of panic. _[We should not mention Fulcrum's hidden details!] _He fussed, his wheels running in small circles.

Luke raised his hands in a surrendering motion. "Hey, whoa, Artoo buddy, slow _down." _He said in half-panic. "I won't say it again, promise."

In all honesty, Luke had wondered how the hell did Artoo know of Ahsoka. _Hell, _he was wondering the same thing about Leia. A farm boy and a royalty should have no acquaintances in common, yet—

_It feels like I've known you my whole life._

He glanced at the hallways leading to the hallways, wondering where SH-4 was. They had wanted to do the test after everything died down. But then—everything just sort of _happened. _

Still, though, the question left him itching with anxiety and wonder.

_It feels like I've known you my whole life._

Artoo beeped suspiciously, startling him, and Luke thought it was almost comical that he would have chuckled a little if he wasn't so stressed. But he gave Artoo his pinky, and the bot let out a mechanical hook, pulling the finger closer to him with it.

Guess bots did understand pinky promises after all.

"Artoo! There you are, I've been looking—"

Luke turned to see the source of the voice and saw a tall man with disheveled brown hair and a dash of peppery white, slowing down his steps. He had the uniforms of a pilot, Luke noticed; the bright orange jumpsuit with the white overcoat. The man, who was seemingly looking for Artoo, was now instead focusing on him like Luke was some fascinating thing to look at.

The fixated attention somehow reminded him of the auctions he used to pass so often as a child, and so Luke shifted, uncomfortably, and cleared his throat. "Are you looking for Artoo?" He asked, awkwardly, pushing the Droid in front of him, as if wedging the bot between him and the man.

"Oh! Oh, yeah, I am." Said the man, blinking. "I'm sorry—I mean, thank you! I mean—" he was blubbering with his words, which was kind of odd, because before he seemed like such a sure man. "God, Ahsoka already told me but—you _do _look like _him_."

"Huh?" Said Luke, dumbfounded. _Him who? _

Artoo bumped his leg, and Luke looked down. _[This is Captain Rex! He is Princess Leia and Princess Winter's External Antivirus!] _Trilled Artoo, almost proudly.

The man—Captain Rex—chuckled at that. "What this little guy means is that I'm their head bodyguard." He said, surer this time, as he offered a hand for Luke to take.

Shaking his hand, Luke was still looking at him warily. "Him _who?_"

Captain Rex's smile grew somber, and he gave Luke a sad look. "Your father." He said, and even his tone sounded wistful.

Luke's eyes widened. "You knew my father?" And then he pressed his lips, mind trying to retrace their conversation. "Wait, Ahsoka _knew _my father?"

Luke had known Ahsoka since he was a child, but only because she used to visit Old Ben and the moisture farm a lot. He had always assumed that Ahsoka was just a random family friend who Aunt Breha really liked but Uncle Owen couldn't stand. Ahsoka never really talked about her own life, would rather listen to Luke babble about his. The fact that he never once thought to ask was—

_Then again, _he mused, _you knew Old Ben his whole life and you only found out that he knew your father yesterday. _

Luke's chest tightened. _Old Ben._

Captain Rex's voice startled him. "We used to work with him." He said, carefully. "He was my General during the war."

Usually, Luke wanted to know everything, _everything _Immediately upon the mention of his father—about any of his parents, really. But today, the curiosity was the furthest thing in his mind. Instead he asked, "Did you… know about Old Ben as well?"

"Old Ben?" Captain Rex echoed, confusion coloring his face.

Then Luke remembered; Old Ben was a fake. It wasn't his real name. "Obi-Wan Kenobi," he amended, mind going to a thousand different places as he thought _why did he like what did he have to hide was everything he did with me fabricated— _"I used to know him as—as Old Ben."

Captain Rex's face sobered. "I did." He said, softly. "Heard what happened to him as well. It's—" he placed a hand on Luke's shoulder, giving him a light squeeze. "I'm sorry." He sounded genuine.

Luke looked down. "He duelled Darth Vader." He said, voice laced with contempt. " They were fighting and—and Vader choked him without even holding his _throat—"_

The image was still clear on his head, Old Ben's feet dangling atop ground, suspended mid-air by something invisible as he clawed for his neck, gasping for breath. It was something straight out of his nightmares, Luke thought—of a man choking a woman as they were surrounded by _fire. _

"Force," Captain Rex's voice broke Luke's reverie, and when Luke looked up he was deathly pale. "Oh my—that's horrible. I'm sorry you had to—" he shook his head, frowning, then he added with a quiet, "how could he have the heart to—?"

The wondering in his tone struck Luke as _bizarre. _"He's _Darth Vader." _Luke said, disbelief palpable in his tone. "I'm from a forgotten desert planet and even I know that macabre and suffering is kind of his thing."

Captain Rex looked at him oddly—like a mixture of realization and regret, before simply looked away and sighed. Luke wanted to ask what was _that,_ really.

But then Han walked out of the meeting room, looking resigned.

_[Han!] _beeped Artoo, whirring his way onto the direction of the pilot. Han yelped instinctively, and Luke couldn't help but snort at the sight of the pilot being jittery in response of the excited Droid.

"How was the meeting?" Luke asked, earnestly, as he approached Han as well. He could hear footsteps behind him, and assumed that Captain Rex must have followed him.

Shrugging, Han shifted his stance rather awkwardly. "Hell if I know—like I said, kid, I was just there for the money." He said, looking anywhere but at Luke's eyes. "Being involved in some meeting to prepare for a death battle is way beyond my paygrade."

Luke had an inclination that Han was lying, somehow. He observed the older man, noting his rather tense posture and the weird face he was making—almost like a mixture of dread and doubt. And then it dawned on him. "You're leaving."

Truly, he didn't mean for his tone to be so accusing, or so scathy. But Han winced upon hearing it anyway, like a kid caught doing something bad. Luke watched as Han looked down, suddenly so interested with his shoes. "Not really news, isn't it?" Han said, his tone way too quiet to convey the bravado he usually exude. "The agreement was only to save the Princess and drop you here."

"_But we need you!"_

"Trust me, Kid," Han said, almost dejectedly. "The last thing you need is a smuggler on the run from Jabba the Hutt. You don't need more enemies in your wake—one murderous empire is more than enough."

Eyeing Han with his best mixture of plea-slash-glare, it took several seconds for Luke to realize that nothing would be able to coax Han out of his decision. "...Fine." He said, and he refused to acknowledge that he sounded petulant. _Refused to. _

He saw Han sighing, before finally looking up at Luke. "See you around, kid." He said, giving Luke what he supposed was a smile but ended up looking like a grimace instead. "If it's any consolation, that flight was the most fun thing I've had in awhile."

Luke watched as Han walked away, something in his chest cracking.

_Yet another person he lost. _

There was a quiet trill on his side, and Luke looked at Artoo, beeping dejectedly. He might not know what the Droid was saying, but he got the sadness all the same. "S'okay, Artoo." Luke said, trying to sound light.

The doors clicked open once more, and Luke looked up from Artoo to see Ahsoka—_Fulcrum?—_walking out. Their eyes met for a split second, and she seemed like she wanted to say something, but then she caught up something behind him, and her face contorted into something hardened. Something formal. Something _battle-ready. _"Rex. Good thing you're here already." She said, and Luke couldn't help but to follow her gaze and turn back at Captain Rex.

The man had straightened himself, and Luke saw the Captain that he was. "'Soka." He said, nodding at her. "What do you need?"

"Round up all the other Captains here, and tell the pilots to get ready." Ahsoka sounded grim. "We have a plan." By the tone of her voice, she didn't like the plan one bit.

Captain Rex nodded at her, before giving Luke a small smile and motioning to Artoo. "Come on, little guy." He said to the Droid, earning an obedient beep as Artoo followed him away, sparing Luke one last look before wheeling along Leia's bodyguard.

It was only Ahsoka and Luke, then, in the hallway, and Luke watched a Ahsoka hesitated. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed, then opened again, like she was unsure of what she wanted to say. Around him, Luke could feel the bustling in the base, the sense of urgency and purpose everyone seemed to carry around them.

"Luke, I—"

"I want to help."

Their voices overlapped one another, clashing. Ahsoka's eyes widened at Luke's admission, but Luke refused to back down. His mind kept on recalling the moment back at the Death Star's hangar, as Han dragged him and Leia away from Old Ben—_Obi-Wan—_forcefully, despite his protest. Kept on recalling the moment he returned back to Uncle Owen's moisture farm and finding that the house had been burned to the ground, Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru nothing more than memories and ashes.

That pain, that loss, that _helplessness_—he didn't want to feel like that ever again.

"Luke—"

"I can pilot." Said Luke, his tone firm, "Ben told you himself how good I was at navigating planes, right? And I have good instincts, and pretty good aim, and—"

"_Luke." _

Ahsoka sounded wary, and almost begging, "This isn't some back-alley podrace you can sneak in and out whenever you like." She said, and then her hands were on his shoulders, squeezing him tight as if trying to shake reason into him. "This is _war, _Luke. People die. _You _can die."

Something in Luke snapped. "I know that!" He said, harshly. "You think I haven't seen enough people dying at the hands of the empire, these past few days?" _Aunt Beru, Uncle Owen, Ben, Ben, __**Ben—**_ "I want to do this because I don't want even more innocent people to _die!" _

_Aunt Beru, smiling at him softly before her face contorted into something akin to pain, and then there were flames around her, burning, burning—_

_Uncle Owen's voice, "Help us, Luke!" He begged, but he wasn't visible, only fire engulfing him, consuming him—_

"_Go!" Yelled Old-Ben, voice hoarse from being recently choked, his palms thrusted upfront and opened wide, as if trying to push something invisible. "Get out of here—" _

"'Soka." Luke was pleading, now. "_Please." _

His mind drifted to Leia, still in that meeting room, discussing strategies, and his gut twisted painfully. Leia was here. His—_whatever—_was here. And damn it, he couldn't _lose _anyone else again.

Luke needed to do something. To _be something. _

Ahsoka's frustration was palpable, and Luke barely heard her mutters—something called _Padme?—_before she finally looked up and sighed. "I'll comm Rex, see what I can do." She said, finally, "_but, _I will make no promises. If I can't find any vacancy, then you'll stay _put, _alright?" Her tone was almost patronizing, if not for the slight plea seeping their way into her voice.

Her desperation twisted something in Luke's gut. He had never seen Ahsoka—strong, funny, always sure _Ahsoka—_actually fearing anything. "...okay." He said, finally. "Okay, I _promise." _

And then—and then Ahsoka pulled him into a hug. "_Thank you," _She said, wavering a bit. When she released him, he found his cheeks cupped into her palm. She didn't say anything, only pulling him to her and kissed the crown of his head.

Luke closed his eyes, trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes, trying to ebb away the tears. But he snuggled to Ahsoka's touch anyway, trying to savor as much warmth as he could get from her.

* * *

There were many things Ahsoka Tano had failed; being a good padawan, being a Jedi, saving her master and his master—

Ahsoka was so familiar with failure. It felt like it was ingrained in her system. But, as she looked at Luke's beaming face when she dreadfully informed him that the Red Squadron was, indeed, in need of a pilot, she couldn't help but to fear failure, perhaps for the first time in a long, long while.

_Force, please, _She thought as Luke eagerly followed her to the hangar, where Garven Dreiss would wait for them for _**him**_, _just this one, don't let me fail him. _

* * *

Leia found him when he was changing to the pilot uniform in the middle of the men's bathroom, looking disheveled and slightly breathless, a result from running her whole way to get there. "You're going _out?!" _her voice pitched up, almost like an indignant squeak.

Luke turned at her, so surprised at her presence he almost dropped his helmet. "Leia, this is a _men's _bathroom!" His voice matched her level. The other men around them, they yelped at the sudden entrance of the princess and scurried away, sparing Luke and Leia one last odd glance before disappearing from the door. Leia knew there would be rumors spread about them. The rebellion liked to gossip after all.

Still, she didn't care. The Princess put her hands on her hips, looking far too mighty for a person so short. "Big kriffin' _deal," _She said, narrowing her eyes at him, "You're going _out." _

"How did you—?"

"Fulcrum told me," Leia cut him off. She didn't really mean to sound so harsh, she swore. It was just—_hard. _She could feel the previously subsiding dread once again crawling their way back to her chest, clutching her lungs with _fear. _"What are you _thinking?_" She said, grabbing his arm with her good hand, slightly shaking his body with that leverage.

Responding to this, Luke sighed indignantly, "Look, I've had this conversation with 'Soka before, and she was the one who recommended me to Commander Dreiss." He said, slowly peeling Leia's grip from his arms.

'Soka—_Fulcrum? _"I'm gonna _throttle _her." Leia mumbled, darkly, her free knuckles now clenching together tightly. "She has no right—"

"And what right do you have?" Luke cut her off, and Leia was stunned by the sudden conviction coming from him. He looked at her, dead in the eyes, as blue met brown, determination clashing against one another. "We've only met today, and we don't have any relationship, after all—"

"You know that's not _true—" _

"_And _even if we it turns out that none of those things are true," Luke continued, staring her down, his wills fiery and searing. "I've made up my mind, Leia." He then took a deep breath, then released, "I want to _help." _

The dread in her chest tightened its grip, stealing her breath. "You have _helped, _Luke." She pleaded, trying her best to convey her fears to him. "You've saved _me." _

Luke's gaze softened, "That might be moot if the Death Star attack us." He said, quietly. "I know you have your fears, but—I have to _try, _Leia." He said, hand clutching her shoulder.

_Fear, _Leia somehow felt it swirling in Luke's presence. The same fear gripping her chest, consuming her thoughts. They feared for each other's lives, it seemed, their palpable dread swirling and tangling together like a mess of strings in the air, almost suffocating them.

"You're so stubborn," Leia said, and she meant it to be just a little sharp, but it came out more sad than anything else.

Luke grinned at her, rather weakly. "Yeah, well," He shrugged, tilting his head slightly at her direction. "kinda runs in the family."

It came out so naturally from his mouth, like an afterthought. Like it was a fact. Still, the answer to the question remained unknown—put aside for bigger things, matters more important than their possible relations—

_But—_

_It feels like I've known you my whole life._

Both paused, exchanging glances. "You know," She said, softly. "We haven't really—checked." She looked up at him. "And SH-4 is right across the hallway—I brought him."

Luke looked at her, intently, and it seemed like forever and _is he going to say no, call bullshit on all this—?_ "Okay." He said, startling her. Her eyes widened slightly as Luke took a deep breath. "_Okay." _

Biting her lower lip, Leia nodded, calling SH-4 in. The Droid wheeled at their side obediently, trilling earnestly, _[do you need more medications, Mistress Leia?] _

"No, SH-4," Leia said, before wincing. _Force, what a mouthful. She had to figure out a nickname to call the Droid. _"I just—can you analyze DNA samples? See if they match in familial relations, or anything?" She was still looking at Luke while she spoke. It was a question to stall the time, both of them knew. All imperial Droids are equipped with proper analyzing tools, so as to require as little organic assistant as possible.

_[Certainly, Mistress Leia. All I need is a sample of hair from the test subjects.] _Beeped SH-4, its little light blipping, changing colors. _[Do you require one to be done? Would it improve your health?]_

"Yes." Leia's answer was almost breathless. "Yes, I would like that very much, SH-4."

_It feels like I've known you my whole life._

She looked at Luke as she unplucked a strand of her loose locks, and Luke did the same. As both of them placed the hair in SH-4's tray, their eyes were locked against one another, and somehow, Leia could _feel _him, swirling around her.

_[Thank you, Mistress Leia.] _Said SH-4. _[The results should be ready in thirty standard-minutes.] _

Thirty minutes— "My crew departs at ten." Luke said, softly, almost dreadfully. Leia knew what he meant; _This might be the last time they could see each other again. _

The dread was as tight as it could, overpowering her senses, whispering about the possibilities of Luke's fate, but she swallowed it down. "Well then," She said, throatily. "You gotta make sure that you can come back to find out."

_It feels like I've known you my whole life._

She saw how Luke struggled for a reply for a while, before he finally nodded. "Walk me to the hangar?" He asked, offering a hand. Leia took it, gripping his hand tightly, mindless that her injured knuckle would be stretched out and bleed again.

For Luke, she could stand a little sting.

He was Red Five, and Fulcrum kept on drilling it to everyone to refer to each other as their codes, nothing else. "In case they intercept your radio," She said, grimly. Leia understood.

According Ackbar's calculations, The Death Star was already entering the Yavin system. The Red Squadron would intercept them before they could reach the base, hoping that if all came to worse, they could at least buy the base some time to escape.

The thought of the worst case scenario made Leia's stomach revolt. _What if it failed, what if they all died, what if—_

"Hey," Luke said, breaking her reverie. "You see it first, okay?" He said, solemnly, tilting his head at SH-4's direction. "So you can tell me in person," He took a deep breath, then plastered a smile. "When I come _back." _

She nodded, not trusting herself with words, and reached out to Luke. He met her halfway, hugging her as tight as he could before climbing up the plane. "See you," She said, softly, as the lid lowered down, isolating him from her. She was sure he didn't hear her, but he grinned anyway, and she gulped down her bile to return his grin.

"He'll be okay," Leia heard Fulcrum beside her, and felt as her hand snaked around her shoulders, pulling her closer. "He _has to." _

Leia leaned over to the togruta, closing her eyes. _He has to. _

_**Leia—**_

Her stomach dropped, her eyes opened wide. It was that voice again, she realized, the one on the ship, the one sounding sad and urgent and _desperate_—

_**Run.**_


	7. Father

The circuit was fried.

Vader felt his precariously-balanced emotions coursed through his system, releasing little by little through gritted teeth, creating an _sshh-sshh-sshh _sound through his mouth. He was seething, fuming, as he stormed back to his chamber; because the circuit, the one he was supposed to meticulously, _carefully _disengage and dismantle so he could disable the main missile launcher, was _fried. _

He should have been more patient, should have taken a couple of deep breaths to control his anger, but he didn't—the second he saw that the system needed biometric scans of the Governors—something he clearly wasn't and did not have—he had _lashed out _in frustration—and now it was fried to nothingness.

Everything—everything he had done for the past couple of hours; the tampering with the navigation system, the error in general computing, the ruckus he caused in the fuel transfer system—it was all for _nothing _if the main launcher could still _fire. _

The only way to blow the station was now through the destruction of the plating covering the external thermal exhaust post from the outside, and he—he couldn't pull that off without being seen, discovered, _questioned—_

And then his daughter could be known by the Emperor, could be targeted, marked, _destroyed_—

_Death or capture? _

Images of Alderaan—blowing into pieces, danced in his mind. Remnants of people's screams not long ago, echoing in his mind. And his daughter—his wonderful, spirited, _rebellious daughter—_

"_It seems that in your anger… you killed her." _

_Not this time, _Vader was quiet, but his soul was loud; begging, pleading to whoever was willing to listen. _Not this time, not her, not again, please, I just found her, I just saved her, I can't lose her the way I lost her mother, please—_

"Sir?"

He stopped, right in front of his office, and turned to see Piett looking as nervous as always. "I just think you would like to know that we're—" the officer gulped, seemingly almost fearful at his own next words, "we're about to enter the Yavin system." He took a deep breath, "and according to the calculations, we would probably reach the planet within—within three hours."

Something in Vader's stomach dropped—twisting into a tight knot before stabbing him right in his chest because—because now it was _real. _Any hour now, they could approach the place of the rebel base. And when they had—when they _had—_

_Leia Leia Leia Leia __**Leia—**_

"Governor Rancit also—also requested your presence, Sir. At his office." Said Piett again, his tone unsure. Vader clenched his fist, almost snarling at him but held back—no, no, _no. _

The last time he let his anger got through him, he tortured his daughter. The last time he let his anger got through him, he blew the chance he had saving her life. He couldn't let his anger resurface, couldn't let his decision be based on rage—

_But then, what? _A small voice in his head piped up, _rage had been your main fuel for __**decades. **__What now, if you refuse its presence be known? _

"Sir?"

When he opened his mouth to speak, he was almost thankful for the vocal modulator, because at least it could hide the tremble in his tone, the dryness in his voice. "I will be there shortly." He felt like he was being strangled, which was almost ironically funny, in its own way.

Piett nodded, before scurrying away.

In his wake, Vader took a deep breath. He unclenched his fist, trying to let go of the rage, but letting other emotions—concern, worry, care, _love—_guide him to reach the force—any side of the force, except for the _Dark. _

(he would rather get struck by a Sith lightning than letting the Dark touch _her _again.)

Something had answered, then—Vader couldn't really pinpoint it; like something Light, but not _quite. _Like something _almost._

Shaking his head, he steeled his resolve. No matter; he could figure it out later. For now—

_**Leia—**_he called, softly, _desperately, _trying to say so many things that culminated only in one word;

_**Run. **_

* * *

Space was—_well. _Space was _wide. _And _vast._ And a little bit—scary. Luke gripped the console tighter, gulping the nerves down, trying to focus himself to shove down the fear.

He knew he asked Ahsoka himself, knew he was the one practically begging to be involved. He knew that this was what he wanted—to help, to _fight back. _But— "Is it always so large, Artoo?" He muttered to the Droid behind him, so soft it was almost inaudible. "The space?"

_[It is a limitless, continuous area,] _Said Artoo, quoting the literal description of the word. Luke watched the nav screen on his ship be filled with words as Artoo's beeps continued. _[according to my database, the space can only expands and grows bigger as time passes.] _

"Always expanding, huh?" Luke mused, chuckling weakly. He could feel the knots in his stomach tightening, the fingers clutching the steer growing clammy.

Artoo was quiet for a while, and then, _[you are afraid.] _He said, matter-of-factly—leaving no room for Luke to debate.

Not that Artoo's assessment weren't right, but it was just—sort of humiliating to be so predictable even a Droid could read him. Luke made a non-committal hum, hoping that Artoo would drop it.

_[You should not be here, if you are afraid.] _Said Artoo, his beep soft and almost sad. _[You are supposed to be safe. Protected.] _

_My oath is to protect the variants!_

Luke took a deep breath, seeds of doubt starting to spring in his mind. _Maybe Ahsoka was right. Maybe he wasn't ready for this, for any of this—_

But—

"I want to help." said Luke, exhaling loudly. "I want to—be able to do good." He glanced at the rearview mirror, at the Droid who was blipping at him expectantly. "Besides, fear is what drives us, right?"

_The fear to fall under tyranny. The fear to lose. The fear to dissipate; be gone, forgotten. _

Artoo trilled something rather wearily—but at the same time _proudly_, and Luke watched the nav screen. _[You possess similar codes with the primaries.]_

Luke didn't get that, but he had a feeling that it was a compliment. So, "thanks, Artoo," he said, blowing out some breath. Trying to steel his resolve, Luke pressed his lips tightly.

"_Red Five?" _

"In position." Luke replied Commander Dreiss' call. The man affirmed, then continued calling the rest of the squadron, making sure that they were all in line and _ready. _

"_Approaching target in eagle formation. ETA fifteen minutes. Be prepared, soldiers." _Commander Dreiss sounded grim. "_This is for the fighters lost in Scarif. For the civilians lost in Alderaan. For those silenced by this war." _

_For those silenced by this war. _

Luke tried to make his voice as firm as possible when he replied, "Sir, yes Sir." He said, grimly. _For Aunt Beru. For Uncle Owen. For Ben—_

"_Lu—Red Five?" _

His laments were cut by a tentative voice, calling out for him. It wasn't Commander Dreiss' baritone voice—instead, it was a voice Luke had known so well, could almost recognize _anywhere. _The voice that had accompanied him since childhood, to back-alley podraces and the days of moisture farming.

Even now, in an upcoming galactic battle faraway from the deserts of Tatooine, it seemed that the force had wanted for Biggs Darklighter and Luke Skywalker to continue frolicking their way together across the galaxy.

"Yeah, Bi—Red Three," Luke replied, relief filling his voice. "How are you holding up?"

"_Scared shitless." _Replied Biggs, truthfully. Luke always appreciated that from Biggs; his blatant, unfiltered honesty. "_This is probably the biggest battle I have ever been—then again. It's probably the biggest battle everyone in this Squadron has ever been." _

Looking around him, at the speeding planes that were his crew members, Luke realized just how accurate Biggs was. None of these people had ever faced something in the same calibre as the Death Star, before—had ever faced something of such _peril _before.

Knowing this fact, somehow, _soothed _Luke, because suddenly he didn't feel so left out, so _alone. _"At least we have each other, right?" He said, almost cheekily. "You and I; the Menace Duo."

"_Tatooine's youngest podracers. The source of Owen Lars' constant headache." _Biggs replied, his voice sounding wistful. Luke's eyes misted at that, recalling a childhood long gone, an innocence long evaporated. "_Think we can pull the shits we did back then?" _

"Only one way to find out, isn't it?"

Biggs hummed in agreement, and it was silent for a while, and Luke thought that he was already disconnecting, until— "_Hey Red Five?" _

Luke almost hit his hand as he rushed to press the reply button on. "Yeah, Red Three?"

"_In case if we—if I—" _Biggs sounded like he was halting himself, pausing for several milliseconds. When he came back, his voice was thicker, dryer, more _raw. "I just want you to know that—I can't imagine doing this with anything else but you." _He said. "_It's always been us, after all." _

Something inside Luke stirred, an old feeling he'd long buried since Biggs had left the coarse lands of Mos Espa. There was something clogging his throat, something almost like _longing _when he opened his mouth to reply. "Me too, Bi—"

"_Sorry to cut the romance, boys, but—" _It was now Commander Dreiss, breaking Luke from his reverie and causing him to blush a bright scarlett across his cheeks. _Oh, Kriff, had everyone else—? "We're entering the battle perimeters now. Be ready." _

At the Commander's information, Luke's eyes snapped up, straight to the view before him. The space was just as dark and vast as it had been before, but now—now he could _see _it.

Luke didn't really pay attention, back when he was inside. But now, viewing it from where he was flying, he realized how right Han was;

Even from afar, The Death Star was _humongous._

For a split second, Luke's resolve wavered, and Ahsoka's grim words rang in his head; "_This is war, Luke. People can die. __**You **__can die." _He felt a new wave of fear settling in, gripping him, but—

_For those silenced by this war._

"_Squadrons, Ready?" _

_For Aunt Beru. For Uncle Owen. For Ben, Ben, Ben, __**Ben—**_

Luke took a deep breath. "Ready."

* * *

"There are reports of foreign planes approaching." Said Governor Rancit before Vader could even fully enter the room. The Government didn't look up, didn't even acknowledge Vader's presence. Instead he was aptly viewing the navicomputer before him, where twelve small dots were rapidly closing into the station. "Isn't it fascinating?" Added Rancit, eyes almost sadistically gleeful as he followed those dots' movements. "They're very determined, I'll have to give them that." He snorted, "But just like pesky pests—they have no concept of self preservation."

Vader stood still, the only noise coming out of him a _sshh-sshh-sshh _of his breathing.

"And for that foolishness," Said Rancit, leaning to his recliner, "They will be destroyed. Annihilated." His smile was growing wide, almost maniacally, "Including that pesky, pesky _Princess." _

The way Rancit had described Leia, like she was a worthless nuisance—Vader clenched his fist, his anger teetering into the force. Around him, the walls trembled—crackling in response of his barely-contained rage.

_How dare he insult what was his. _

Governor Rancit must have misread him, because he was cackling. "My, my, they were right; you do _shake _every room you're in." He stood up from his seat, walking at Vader's direction. "That's the _exact_ spirit I need Lord Vader—" he said, placing a hand to Vader's shoulder like he deserved to, like they were _old friends. _Vader shrugged him away, almost immediately, his _sshh-sshh-sshh _growing louder.

Rancit's smile soured, raising his hands in a surrendering motion. "Not a fan of physical contact, I see?" He said, tilting his head.

"What do you require from me?" Hissed Vader, his voice modulator barely hiding the grit in his teeth, the thinness in his patience. If Rancit was only here to gloat, to say a couple of degrading words about the rebellion, then—

But then Rancit shrugged, almost nonchalantly. "I want to give these scums an appreciation of sorts. For making it this far, you know." He said, tilting his head slightly. "I plan to have TIE-planes dispatched to fight them. I want _you—" _He pointed at Vader lazily, "to lead the squadron."

Inside his mask, Vader blinked.

_Once, twice, thrice. _

"You want me to—" He said, head turning, working, _thinking, _"lead the battle against the Rebels."

Nodding, Rancit waved a hand. "That's about right. You can even choose the members and everything." He said, sitting back in his chair. "I'm sure they're way below your usual battle, but—a little easy-mode games can't hurt, every once in a while, am I correct?"

Vader wasn't really listening. His head was suddenly _full, _so many thoughts clashing in at once.

_He could use the battle as a cover could cover his trace could attack the thermal post and not be seen suspicious—_

"Lord Vader—?"

"Yes." Vader had said, almost breathlessly. "I will do it."

Rancit grinned gleefully. "See, Lord Vader?" He said, could. "I know a well-oiled soldier like you would like bloodbaths."

Any other day, Vader would have snarled, would have choked Rancit for his objectifying description of him—one that eerily reminded him of _slavery_—but today was not that day. Today he vowed that rage wouldn't be the frontman of his decision making, that his dignity wouldn't be the priority of his choices.

_Leia. _

All that mattered was _her. _

Walking out of Rancit's office felt like a trance, as Vader closed the door behind him. Piett—that oddly loyal officer—was startled at Vader's sudden appearance, looming over him. "Lord Vader, Sir, uh, what—"

"I want you to round up Eleven of your best men to leave this station." Said Vader, not bothering with any pleasantries. "Make sure that they're loyal to me and _only me." _His tone was almost threatening. "Take one of the evacuation ships; disable the tracking devices, then go to Mustafar."

Piett's eyes narrowed, "Mustafar...?"

Vader waved a hand. "It will be in the maps. Go to the palace at its southeast side." He instructed. "Wait until the hangar is open and the TIEs are deployed. Depart with them, and _be discreet."_ He emphasized the last word. "Do not let anyone find out."

_Do not let the Emperor find out. _

Nodding, the frown was still present in Piett's face. "And what about you, Sir?" He asked, hesitantly. "Will you be staying here, or—?"

Vader looked at the hallway, already mapping the men he was going to take with him; _must have decent record to not raise suspicion, but still lousy enough to guarantee that none would eventually survive and witness what he was about to do— _"I will lead the TIE squadrons." He said.

"Sir—?"

_Leia, Leia, Leia, __**Leia—**_

"I will lead the squadrons," Vader repeated himself, "And I will _blast _this station to the ground."

* * *

"Commander are you—" Luke said, narrowing his eyes. "Are you seeing that?"

As they approached the battle station, it was clear that it wasn't the only thing flying. Around them were TIE planes, only starting to _fly. _

_"Kriff." _Cursed someone from the comms. Luke wasn't sure _who, _but—as he watched more planes being dispatched before them, possibly double their amount, Luke would have to agree at the sentiment.

_Kriff indeed._

They were clearly outnumbered—outdated, _even_. Their X-Wings were of last year's model, equipped with proper tools to attack, _yes—_but nothing compared to the sleek and intricate designs of the TIE crafts.

Luke grimaced, thinking of Leia, back at the base, waiting for him. Thinking of Biggs' precautionary words. Thinking of Ahsoka and—

_This is war, Luke. People die. __**You **__can die._

He could feel his nerves thrumming, his heartbeat hammering in his ribcage. _Death_. He used to be so afraid of it, as a child; he saw it too much, with slaves in Tatooine dying before his watch, writhing and begging for help to no one that would listen. Luke always thought that death was scary.

But—

_"I want to help!"_

For Aunt Beru. For Uncle Owen. For Ben.

_"Pilots of the Rebellion." _True to Ahsoka's grim predictions, the enemy did intercept their commlinks to announce their arrivals. _"This is your last opportunity to surrender in peace. Do not hinder the wills of our leader." _

Luke held his breath as he heard Commander Greiss' defiant, _"and if we choose to not surrender?" _responding back to the Imperial fighters.

There was a _sshh-sshh-sshh_ voice, almost like someone was being muffled by their mouth while breathing through it, and Luke realized a little too late on who had taken over to speak. _"Then,"_ Darth Vader—_kriffing_ _Darth Vader—_spoke, his robotic voice echoing through the small compartment of Luke's plane. _"you will be met with a swift death." _

_Death,_ Luke thought. The lingering stench of death seemed to follow him anywhere, but especially lately—with his aunts and uncles, with the genocide of Alderaan, with Ben—death was such a staple of permanence these past few days, Luke wasn't sure he remembered a time before it. Fear laced his nerves, stuttered his breathing.

_But—_

_"Your father was a Jedi, Luke." There was a twinkle in Ben's eyes as he spoke, bright and sombre. "A brave one." He shook his head, almost reminiscing. "People called him 'The Hero with No Fear.'"_

_Luke looked at him; the coldness of the Falcon suddenly less threatening, with stories of his father warming him. 'The Hero with No Fear,' he thought. "Was he ever afraid?" He asked, voice so small as he suddenly feel inadequate; For he was no hero, nor did he have no fear. He was just Luke Skywalker, moisture farm boy who's pretty good at flying things up and fixing things out. _

_But then Ben chuckled, his eyes now glinting with an unexpected amusement. "Of course he was, Luke." He said, softly. "Everyone were. Your father was no different." He smiled, tilting his head slightly to take a look at Luke better. "But it never stopped him from doing something he believed was right." At this, his smile wavered, and then he looked up to the ceiling, as if reminiscing something darker, something more sinister. "In a sense, you can even say—" he took a deep breath. "Fear was what drove him."_

Luke closed his eyes, feeling the vastness of the space, _truly, _for the first time. It was eerily silent, and yet he didn't find it as threatening, or as mortifying as before. Instead, in the silence, he could almost hear echoes of a voice, of _Ben, in the Falcon's dejarik table (except he wasn't?) saying—_

_**Do not let your fears define you, Luke.**_

"Bold of you to assume," Luke had found himself pressing the comms button, blasting his own voice across the X-Wing and, consequently, the TIE planes. "That any fight of ours would be _swift." _

He didn't know where he got the courage from, where he got the bravery, despite his still clammy hands and his still antsy legs. Didn't know how conviction could be so well-mixed into his nerves, like a grind working, supporting each other. But he clung onto to it like a vice, savoring all the bravery he could get.

_"Very well then," _it was Vader again, sounding almost mildly—amused? _"You have been warned."_

There was that _sshh-sshh-sshh_ sound again, the heavy, almost mechanical breathing that seemed to always follow Vader everywhere. Luke was always wondering _why _did he sound like that. Was it necessary, was it an attempt to be more menacing—?

_"Soldiers,"_ Luke's idle wonder was cut short as he once again heard Vader's voice echoing through the comms. _"Begin the attack."_

* * *

Vader _knew _that voice.

It was the same one that screamed for Kenobi with all his might, the one that had to be dragged by the pilots alongside the Princess—his Princess, _his—_as stormtroopers pursued them left and right.

He wondered who it was, and what his relations were to Kenobi. Maybe an apprentice? He couldn't really tell.

_(Still, something nagged him, something odd and kind of concerning. It felt almost like he was missing something, forgetting something, overlooking something—)_

Vader shook his head. He had more pressing matters to be concerned with.

_Leia._

The battle strategy was fairly simple—lead the rebellion to the eastern part of the Station, the one that was concealed by the shadows. Vader told his men that it was because of the static field surrounding that particular part would make it difficult for older plane models to maintain smooth flight, and the lack of light around the area would harden their attempt to view their surroundings.

None of those were true—and Vader was thankful that none of his men were bright enough to check the validity of his claims.

_"Lord Vader," _said one of his men, he didn't really care who it was, who any of them were— _"We've hit down five X-Wings, one of which was their Commander, sir—but CL-6389 and DV-4215 were shot, and are now experiencing engine malfunction—"_

"Focus on your individual _tasks, _Soldier." Vader snarled, cutting off the anxious officer. He didn't care if some of his men would fall, or that some of them already had. He had planned to kill every single one of them, after all; rebels and troopers alike, because no one could be a witness of what he was about to do and lived to tell the tale.

Correllian hells, he himself didn't even feel like he could say it himself.

_**Treason,**_ an amused voice piped up in his head_**, **_almost like it was reaching up to him. _**You're about to commit treason. **_

Vader's breath hitched, shock getting to him. But he buried the feelings away as quickly as it came, not sparing any indle wonderment to question _who _or _how_. Instead, he simply replied what had been spinning in his head since the beginning of the day.

_This is to save my daughter. _He argued, almost instinctively.

_**And what does that say about you, Lord Vader?**_

Shaking his head, Vader banished the voice to a locked part of his mind. Instead he focused on trying to locate his target; that two-meter wide thermal exhaust post he'd been so desperately searching for.

From up here, it was practically impossible to distinguish the blasted post against other components, what with the fact that Erso had made the plating almost similar to one another. Vader let out a distinct sound of frustration, a mix of growls and groans muffled by his vocal modulator as he tried to keep up the facade of shooting the rebels back while still keeping an eye to seek for the post.

For a split second, he averted his gaze to the enemies, and had his heart stopping for a second too long.

Because he could see the moon where the rebellion resided. Could see the moon where his daughter _was currently residing._

Around him, the X-Wings were losing, one by one falling or being engulfed in flames, or a combination between the two. There were only very little of them now, perhaps less than five, and even with them as the last defense of the rebellion, he could see how futile their stance were, how they, too, will soon be obliterated by this forsaken murder machine.

Vader felt his heart plummeting down at the pit of his stomach. _No, _he gulped, _no no no no no—_

_Leia, Leia, Leia, __**Leia—**_

_"Wahoo!" _

The maniacally joyful scream startled Vader to his bones, as he instinctively looked up to try and find the root of the voice. The Millennium Falcon greeted back at him with a shot that he had narrowly missed.

_"Ladies and gentlemen this is your Captain speaking," _Said the pilot, almost cheekily, _"if you look at your left you will see the beginning of total annihilation of the Imperial Scums." _and then he proceeded with more fire, some hitting his men and even grazing his own body. _"Two down, Baby! That was for you, Chewie!"_

There was a wookie roar at the back, a Shyriiwook Vader was far too occupied to comprehend. _"Han! Chewie!" _There was another voice—the _boy, _sounding like he was fully, wholly _relieved. "You came back!"_

_"Hey, Kid, how's it hangin'?!" _

_"Sir—" _said one of his men amidst the chaos. _"We're badly hit, Sir. NS-1260 and QR-7784 have engine failures—"_

"Where are you?" Vader asked, clippedly, gritting through his teeth.

_"Second and fourth planes of your northeast, sir, the ones with—"_

Vader didn't wait. He swiveled his ship and blasted them with his own missiles.

_**Hmph. **_Said the amused voice in his head, the one he knew so damn well but had refused to acknowledge. _**You and—what did senator Amidala usually say? Ah, yes—aggressive negotiations.**_

_Shut up, _Vader hissed, entirely focusing on trying to eliminate the threats against him. _Shut up. _

_**Fine. **_Said that voice, and Vader could almost imagine _him _raising a hand, as if posing for surrender, his eyes twinkling in almost mischief, _**I won't say anything. **_

Vader growled, swerving to check on his surroundings. Most of his own men were down, sans maybe two, and there were only three more X-Wings at his side, one that was seemingly approaching where he was hovering.

Something told him that it was the boy's ship. And he couldn't let the child ruin his plans, couldn't let him ruin his already slight chance of saving—

_Leia, Leia, Leia, __**Leia—**_

So he reloaded his arsenal, ready to blast the boy to crisps—

_**If you shoot that boy, Anakin, **_and now _Kenobi _wasn't playing coy, wasn't hiding himself anymore—he sounded _dead serious_, and Vader could almost see his face, wrinkled and mirthless and almost _sad. __**You will find yourself sinking in a pool of regret deeper than the one you're already drowning right now. **_

* * *

"Bi—Red Three, how are you faring?!"

Luke almost yelled at his comms, adrenaline fully coursing through his veins. There were dread, too, somewhere in there—and anger, and desperation.

He saw Commander Dreiss' freighter falling right before his own eyes, after all.

Scratch that; he'd seen most of his fellow fighters fallen into their demise—or burned, depending on how the attack affected their ships. And Luke could already feel anxiety clawing on him and fear, fear, _fear _whispering _next it's your turn boy—_

But then—then Han showed _up_. Flew the Millennium Falcon amidst the battle with the loudest cheer ever and _showed up_. And managed to hit _two, three, four, five, six—_

_"I'm fine, Red Five." _Replied Biggs, sounding breathless. _"How are you?" _

"Fine as well." Luke spoke through his comms, relief seeping through his veins at Biggs' voice. He swept his vision around, finding that Lieutenant Antilles' ship was still hovering, and punched the comms once more. "Lieutenant, are you alright?"

_"Peachy," _Replied Lt. Antilles. _"Listen, Red Five; as of now you're the closest to our Target. Red Three and I will try to hit the remaining enemy off, but you—your main concern should be finding and hitting the post."_

Luke frowned, "but I thought the plan was to—"

_"This is a battle, Red Five. Plans change." _Lt. Antilles sounded like he was almost pleading, _"most of our men are down. You're the closest to make the shot. You're our only hope."_

_You're our only hope. _

Leia—suddenly he was reminded of Leia, in that recording, bending her knees slightly to reach Artoo's height, begging Old Ben to help the rebellion. _You're my only hope, _she had said, pleading, _help me._

Taking a deep breath and clutching his consoles, Luke strengthened his resolve. "Copy that, Lieutenant." He said, before punching the comms off.

He would do this. He could do this. He _had to do this._

_For Aunt Beru. For Uncle Owen. For Ben._

Maneuvering his freighter so he could inch closer to the general target area, Luke asked for the schematics from Artoo's archive. "Come on Artoo. Show me that blasted post."

Artoo beeped in compliance, and pulled the schematics before their eyes. Luke narrowed his eyes at the blueprint, trying his best to match the drawing with the real life object he was faced with—but it was _hard; _it was almost impossible, with the similarities of the external plating and the chaos around him.

Still, he tried his best to find it, using his nav system and the schematics. Inching closer to the place, Luke narrowed his eyes, hoping somehow that they would appear to him.

And then something _loomed_ behind him, something _big and threatening_.

He whipped his head up and saw the sleek, black plane that had led this attack since the very beginning. Watched as his shooters lightened up, as if preparing to shoot.

_At him_.

Darth Vader was going to _shoot him_.

Luke scrunched his eyes shut. Bracing for impact. This was it, this was _it, _he would never make it back to the base with the remaining squadron, never meet Leia _again—_

_**He's not gonna shoot you.**_

Luke opened his eyes, little by little, shock getting to him. He looked at Vader's plane again, and—found that it had halted its fires—as if stunned by something.

But beyond his surprise at Vader's sudden hesitation, he was surprised by the man who was whispering to his mind. Because above everything else, Luke _knew _that voice.

_"Ben?!"_

_**Quite. **_Luke could almost see the twinkle in Ben's eyes as he heard his reply. _**You are doing so well, Luke. **_

Luke spluttered. "But you—but you—" he said, struggling to get the words out. "But you _died!" _

_**To a Jedi, there is no death, my boy. **_Said Ben rather cryptically, _**there is only the force.**_

Luke wanted to ask what the _hell _did he mean by that, but then he could feel something _shifting, _around him; as if turning more sombre, more _serious_. _**We don't have much time, Luke, **_Ben said, softly. _**The station is about to fire at the base any minute now.**_

"Yeah, I kind of get that part figured out." Luke was now grumbling in annoyance. "Kind of the reason why I'm here, risking myself to be close to Vader's ship _and _this blasted station, actually."

There was an amused chuckle replying him, and Luke could feel warmth being transferred to his mind, as if trying to soothe his frayed nerves. _**You have your father's sarcasm, I'll give you that. **_Said Ben, _**but another thing you have in common with him is the force you wield in your wake.**_

"The _force?" _Luke asked, almost bewildered. He _knew _of the force, he knew that some people were blessed to wield it—heck, he saw it in action himself as Vader practically _lifted_ Ben from the ground without even touching him, but _having the force? Him? _

_**Yes, Luke, the force. **_Ben now sounded rushed, and Luke could feel his patience thinning. _**You have to reach out to it. Let it guide you.**_

"How am I supposed to—?"

_**Empty your mind. Listen to your surroundings. **_Urged Ben, _**it wants to help, Luke. Let it help you. **_

"But how do I know that it's the force and not just—random feelings?" Luke pressed on, "I've never even felt it before!"

_**You have, Luke. **_Ben said, _**all your life, you have. **_And then there was a long pause, before Ben spoke again. _**How else would you know of Leia before you have even met her?**_

Luke took a sharp intake of breath, his heart skipping a beat. "How did you—?"

Because he wasn't supposed to know. _No one _was supposed to know; his dreams about the meadow, about _her, _was never spoken to anyone else, not even out loud, to _himself_.

But Ben wasn't about to let him be distracted, it seemed. _**The force, Luke. **_He told him, almost like a command. _**Let it guide you.**_

Shaking his head, Luke breathed in, then out, closing his eyes. He shut the comms out, trying to empty his mind just like Ben had said,

_Let the force guide you…_

And then, like there were strings guiding his hand and a pointer leading his sight, Luke felt himself reaching to his console, driving himself in a trance.

_**There. **_Said Ben, but even without him telling, somehow Luke knew; could figure out the target he was about to shoot, even if it seemed to be exactly the same as its surroundings. _**Now fire.**_

Luke maxed out his shooter, and did just _that_.

He knew the obstacle; the plating was a pretty hard steel to remove with just standard ammunition, which meant that Luke would have to keep on firing until it came off before he could actually fire the post below it.

He could feel his hands tiring, and his dread climbing as he mentally counted the ammo he had released, fearing that it would not be enough to fully carry the mission.

_Five left, four left, three left, __**two left—**_

But then.

But _then._

Luke felt that looming presence again behind him, and winced as he thought that this time would be _definitely it; _Vader would shoot him when he was so close, so _close—_

_**He's not gonna shoot you.**_

Luke heard a blast shooting, and braced for the impact, but—but _nothing happened_.

Instead when he opened his eyes, he saw Vader not facing at him, but at the station, and the shot he just released was to—was to—

Luke saw as the plating fell off to the vast, depthless space below them, revealing the thermal exhaust post that was his target. He didn't hesitate. He took the shot.

Everything felt like a slow motion. His shot hit the target straight in the bullseye, and it started to set itself aflame. Luke imagined the fire coursing through the pipeline, tracing their way to—

It took approximately 5.6 standard seconds for the Death Star to _explode. _

Luke had never been more relieved at the sight of something being engulfed in fire.

* * *

_For his daughter, _Vader thought to himself, as he watched the Station tore itself apart into little pieces. _For her. For her safety. For her survival. _

He tried not to think about the stormtroopers inside, the officers who were just there for administrative duties. Instead he convinced himself the way he used to have, a long time ago, in a different life and a different _name—_

_This is war. _He remembered his older (weaker?) self telling his Padawan. _And in war, people die. _

(The fact that he had to once again repeat that mantra, after almost two decades of simply disregarding the lives around him, was a discussion for another _time.) _

Instead, he focused on the remaining X-Wing Pilot, the one that released the killshot. _Red Five, _that was his codename, the boy who had yelled for Kenobi. The boy who had saved his daughter.

The boy who Kenobi prevented him from murdering.

Perhaps that was his purpose, Vader thought; perhaps he shouldn't kill the boy back then because without him, he wouldn't have located and fired at the Post.

But even now, as the boy maneuvered back, sparing Vader one last look, Vader couldn't bear the thought of shooting him.

_(Something nagged in his head, as if he missed something, had forgotten something—)_

All his men were dead. He was the only one left. No one would _know._

He watched as the boy and his remaining crew sped away from him, back at the base. Vader drank the sight of Yavin-4, untouched, tried to seek for his daughter and finding her spirit lifted, her joy coursing through his veins.

_Joy, _Vader thought, reveling on the tingles on his spine, the fullness in his chest. _He hadn't felt that in a while_.

Vader reached out to her, sending her the softest nudge he could muster. _**For you, **_he tried to convey, _**this is for you**__._

And then—for the first time in two decades, he reached out to Kenobi, _intentionally._

_Who was that boy? _He asked, their connection remaining just as strong, even when one of them was long gone. _Why did you not allow me to kill him?_

His only reply was a somber _**my boy,**_ as quiet as the deep space around him.

* * *

_"Luke!"_

He hadn't even climbed down from the ladder when Biggs ambushed him, pulling him down and hugging him tight. "You son of a bitch, you did it!" Said Biggs, grinning widely. "You _did it!" _

Grinning, high on adrenaline, Luke grabbed Biggs by his jaw and angled his face to him, kissing him with all his might. The base, which was already cheery, exploded into even more yells and wolf-whistles.

When they finally parted, Biggs looked as dazed as Luke had felt, and then he licked his lips, saying lightly, "can't believe you beat me up to _that." _

Luke laughed, chest felt light, wanting to hug him again, but then there were three voice calling for him—voices he was painfully familiar with.

_"Kid!"_

_"Luke!"_

A screech of Shyriiwook, and then Han, Leia, and Chewie ambushed him, hugging him tightly from all sides he could barely breathe. But it was alright. It was _alright_, because they were _here_.

_Together_.

"You did it, Kid, you did it!" Han's voice was loud, and his face was red from the happiness. Chewie yelled an agreement, and Luke laughed at the Wookie's colorful choices of words.

"You both are amazing!" Leia said, excitedly, her buns somehow still looking impeccable as always. She turned to Han, her grin turning mischievous, "see, I know you're not all about the money!"

Han waved a hand at her before ruffling both their heads, and Luke laughed at that, leaning at the affection.

Ahsoka and Captain Rex came not long after, and Luke found his head being kissed over and over again by the older togruta, who spoke reverently in a language Luke did not recognize but could feel the gratitude anyway. Luke hugged Ahsoka tightly in return, reveling on her warmth and familiarity.

The base was so _loud, _with people hugging and jumping and cheering, and Luke was almost swept away by the adrenaline and euphoria because they did it, they _won—_

But then someone tugged him and it was Leia, pulling his sleeves down so he would look at her, and somehow, even when she was whispering he heard her the _loudest._

"The results are out."

Luke's world stopped, and suddenly everything narrowed down to her, to her brown eyes and her beautiful, familiar face. "And?" He asked, almost breathless.

Pausing, perhaps for suspense, Leia looked at him intently in return. Then.

"I bet," she said, cheekily, "that I was born _first._"

It took a full second for Luke to comprehend before oh.

_Oh._

"No, _little sis,"_ he said, almost tearfully, as he hugged her tighter. _I'm not alone, not alone, not alone—_ "I bet it was me."

* * *

_**Interlude.**_

This was a _shrine._

Piett watched his surroundings with awe. Mustafar was a smoldering planet filled with _fire, _and why Lord Vader would choose to build his personal palace here was beyond him.

But looking inside, that wonder was pushed far behind his mind, replaced by something new, something even more intriguing—because around him was a building decorated with an image of a woman. A woman everyone knew so _well _in the times of the old republic.

"These are—" said one of his men, "these are all pictures and depictions of Senator _Amidala."_

Piett didn't reply, instead looking at the designs around him. Yes, indeed, these were all of senator Amidala; of the milestones in her life, of all the looks she pulled out in the Senate. He ventured near the framed documents and found that it was copies of her bills, of her contribution to the societies of the past.

Forget a shrine. This was a _temple, _made to worship a Queen long gone and forgotten.

Piett wondered what prompted Lord Vader to build this; obsession? He didn't seem to emerge until after Senator Amidala had died, and during her reign, Piett had never really seen anyone resembling Lord Vader to be a close acquaintance of hers.

_Then again, he's monstrously tall with an exo-suit worn at all times, it was kind of hard trying to figure out the man under it. _

Looking around, Piett tried to catalogue the things he saw. More signatures, paper clippings, tons and tons of drawings and paintings—

He stopped.

Because there, at the end of the hallway, almost camouflaged by the large painting behind it, was a holopicture; small and eternal, depicting Senator Amidala using a veil and smiling brilliantly—

At Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker.

Piett had known who Knight Skywalker was—hell, everyone knew him. Hero with no Fear, greatest war General only on par with Jedi Master Kenobi. He was a legend, an aspiration for children to be and hope for adults to _live—_before the Republic collapsed and the Empire rose.

This was a wedding picture, Piett had realized, but why would a Sith Lord display the wedding picture of a Jedi and a Queen? Even more, weren't Jedis forbidden to—?

and then—then something _clicked. _

_The viewing dock fell silent after Lord Vader choked Governor Tarkin to death, smashing everyone who dared to pursue the Princess in her escape._

"_Shut the trackings." Lord Vader had said with no hesitation, when Piett informed him of their pursuit for the Princess. "I want all navicomputers that keep their tracks be turned off." _

_And the princess herself; strong and defiant, with brown, brave eyes even when they were filled with tears, eyes that reminded him of another politician of a different time, and at the same time a legendary fighter of another time—_

_Leia Organa, her name was, but she was not of the Alderaanian royalty blood. Her status as a war orphan was well known, as well as her sister's. They had been adopted into the Kingdom, taken by the grace of the Queen and the Viceroy—_

"Senator Amidala had died pregnant." Piett spoke out loud, "hadn't she?"

There were collective murmurs of affirmation from his men. But Piett didn't really need it, his mind turning, _thinking._

No one had known who her husband was.

_Oh, _Piett could feel his heart stopping for a milliseconds, skipping a beat, because suddenly he _understood._

Thinking about his own daughters at home—two of them, bright eyed and brimming with joy—he had begun to _understand _Vader for the first time.

"She does look like her, huh?" He muttered to himself, hand hovering over the still holo. He conjured up the face of the Princess in his mind, picturing her eyes at those final moments before she escaped. _sad, beautiful, tragic. _

"The snark, though," he mused to himself more than to anyone else. She had creatively insulted Governor Tarkin on her first meeting with him, and he seemed to recall a certain Jedi General who was famous for his rather runny, undiplomatic mouth.

"It's all _his." _


End file.
